An absence of rain during a Sunday of sleep. Tardy holiday disappointment, carefully wrapped in fancy gift-paper, and taped together with bile and jealousy. Tiny plastic figurettes in the shape of painted lust. Petrified calcium worn around the neck. Wind that sobs in the pitch black of the Nothing. Limping past sheared reminders of thirty-mile-per-hour wind. Softened and glossy, and strewn beautifully in the streets. Week-long prayers for one thousand more cleansings.
5:14 p.m. - 2021-01-27
Recent entries:
Jest and Beckonings - 2021-02-18
Maybe Keep a Notebook - 2021-02-18
Under-fused - 2021-02-11
Underaged Culture - 2021-02-04
No Gamesmanship - 2021-02-04
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