The distant squeak of moldy swings, while the chatter of gunfire keeps time. Cardboard houses sagging against the sallow moonlight. A mist that has no business among the timber and concrete creeping through broken windows. Lawns full of rusted plastic doll parts. Some assembled, and some better left not. One million Penrose starcases that never lead the entire way to heaven. We've traded Sunday church bells for weekend air raid sirens. Hand-dug holes to hide precious bottles of cyanide pills in the backyard. Listening for the silence that never seems to fully materialize.
5:11 p.m. - 2021-01-13
Recent entries:
No Gamesmanship - 2021-02-04
Overdue Deluge - 2021-01-27
Eagledreams - 2021-01-20
Depletion - 2021-01-20
Nonauguration - 2021-01-20
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