Everything dissipates. People? Certainly.
Like the (805) in June, people roll into your life all unassuming;
you blink and you're enveloped, blinded.
Kelly rolled joints with strawberry-flavored cigarette papers.
T-shirt torn up, mug shot of Dennis Hopper affixed to the center with safety pins.
Slipped 'shrooms in some herbal tea she had pawned off as "healthy stuff I made."
Part of her charm.
Details of her face evade my memories now.
Once crystallized, she's devolved back into vapor.
My vision returns,
I lay low lingering about the hills waiting to be burnt off once again.
Cyclical forces shift my focus to new horizons.
Prewitt Scott-Jackson’s work is a mutation of sorts, a ménage à trois of poetry, prose and flash fiction. The University of California Santa Barbara alum grew up on Southern storytelling prior to achieving degrees in Native American Studies and Religious Studies.