A dying lawn speckled with sulphur and cornflowers. Thin and pale-white cloudscars, poorly healed against a blue sky choked with threats. The sun expunges itself quietly while I drink lungfuls of fatigue. A shooting star, masquerading as patience lightning, lens-flares the space between bloated evening clouds. Hippocampal cirrhosis and long evenings alone with sobriety, chasing half-deleted memories around the corners of my mind.

4:25 p.m. - 2022-05-10