Wrizzit

Been playing with Allen Ginsberg's 17-syllable "American Sentence." Trying micro-fiction beginning with three such sentences and then an ending. Or maybe it's a poem? I don't write poetry. In the woods, darkness pooled, slithered up lonely legs; no one heard her screams. When she returned, old misery still clung, so no one noticed a change. Didn’t see a darker smile, a deeper drained well—didn’t pause to care. She had always walked alone. Until now.