He can't get the part of the song where the strings discordantly snapped, mid-dirge, out of his head. Even with ears jammed full of clouds, he finds no respite. He takes a pilgrimage to his adolescence to try and forget. Rotting vineyards and salted fields are some other reminders of his tiny legacy. His tongue tastes like sulfur, but comfortably. Familiarly. It tastes like the diffusion of memory, into accountability, into acceptance. He beds down in a concrete shell of a car lot, where his childhood home once stood. The trip back is too far.
9:48 p.m. - 2016-03-29
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea