Sublime exhalations with lungs half-full of crushed glass. The cold sweat of manufactured death on my cheeks. Too much blood in my caffeine stream. Imagined evenings of mental flourishes, murdered by short-week laziness. Dry lightning storms in the valley. The unmoving corpse of a stolen owl, damp with cardboard. Evenings of trying to dodge the suffocating heat with perfect stillness. My lifelong call to performance oozing out toward the cold and unconcerned stars.

4:08 p.m. - 2021-09-10