Lungs heavy with the heat of a California sunset. Emaciated turkeys roosting in yellowed oak trees. Scavenged metal plates at right angles to a chain-link fence. A slack blue tarp thick with red dust. Warped tires as slouched sentries, guarding cardboard effigies melted from long-vanished rain. Following bridge-beam webs, thick with the summer frost of cottonweed. The skeletons of dead addicts strewn around a paint-chipped drinking fountain. Their meticulous packing and unpacking of their schizophrenia into a gear-case giving them enough purpose to follow their compulsion into the cracks in the pavement.
12:57 p.m. - 2021-06-04
Recent entries:
On Not Being Alone - 2021-06-17
Head Cleaning - 2021-06-17
The Messiness of Silence - 2021-06-11
Of Little Breeze - 2021-06-11
Disgust of 'Neurosexism' - 2021-06-04
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