Ring-stains of retreating lake around the shoreline. A waxing half-moon illuminates an abandoned lakeground. In the dim quiet, the creaking of half a dozen life-vests. Vinyl straps and polychloride swaying in the breeze. The sound of dead cities orbiting the sun. The smell of still-burning plastic somewhere over the hills. Hundreds of tiny frogs living in oxidized drinking fountains. Bridges that don't lead anywhere, any more. Beaches full of pyrite and dirty feathers. The husks of motorized opulence run aground. And miles and miles of bones.
12:44 p.m. - 2020-03-04
Recent entries:
Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
Bubblebeams - 2020-11-18
Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
Bridgecity
Babyhead
Murder
Blubbles
Frostopia
HumHum
Secret-motel
ATwoWayDream