Jack Cox: Dodge Rose

She stretched the red elastic between her fingers… Her voice faltered. Something obvious appeared to be beginning to dawn on her and she frowned until the elastic had slowed to a stop and her thought come home.


Dodge had spoken about them but always in the past tense and her sister had seemed to flicker so dimly through the rooms of her memory.


The train wound up the rusted arteries to Central Station.


Her words came and went as a revelation, everything in the wake of that great property expanding into so many impalpable and inadequate dividers, being at first just a vague tergiversation and then as if the same abstract shades that had clabbered every particle in the flat turned for a moment as full as fleeting as a rush as a rush of oxygen into a spumous surplus, leaving me floating in their airy mould, surprised. I have never made plans, being by nurture far from pleonectic.