Digging out years of bad habit from under phalanges. Home surgery for old age neurorigidity. And the confusion of now-absent morning rituals. Filling in bone-chiseled gaps with tiny black and white stones. But it's hard. Apathy waits in every hidden pocket to grout-in poor choices. I keep dreaming of familiar strangers. Unsaid words beneath road-signs that fork right. Brushing against abortions in the gray half-awake mornings of spring rain. Stopping to admire the entire arc of a rainbow, like a slash-wound in the mottled-slate sky.
3:23 p.m. - 2020-03-18
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
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