Charcoal cobwebs in the corner as kept company. The low-light of candles lighting lonely hallways late into the night. Unwarmed water and unheated stoves. Showering in the scaldingly cold rain pumped from a well of first-world sorrows. Leaving before the strangers arriving. Walking for hours and hours along the blast-remains of a Central California trail. Unwritten haikus plucked from the scenery and carried home in a fake-buckle satchel. The words join the spider-strands as the primary defense against the hexagonal desolation.
11:26 p.m. - 2019-05-22
Recent entries:
Displaced - 2019-06-10
Frog and Scorpion - 2019-06-06
Sarcomancy - 2019-06-05
Hollow Repose - 2019-05-29
Springwaters - 2019-05-29
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