A handful of warm winter days in the valley. A debt of sunlight paid for with mosquito kisses that last twice as long. Scarlet palette-knife lines on the concrete. Abandoned and still-damp roller-skates. The sun swallowed by famished concrete horizons. Thinly etched silhouettes lined by strangled stars. The strong scent of pine at discarded right angles. Warnings in the absent songs of geese; "Watch what you hear."
4:31 p.m. - 2021-01-20
Recent entries:
Maybe Keep a Notebook - 2021-02-18
Under-fused - 2021-02-11
Underaged Culture - 2021-02-04
No Gamesmanship - 2021-02-04
Overdue Deluge - 2021-01-27
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