The staccato knocking of fading sunlight on an abandoned river. Shadow-shaped heads drifting downwind. Making an offering of incidentals to mosquitos and styrofoam hearts. Frequency buzzing against amplitude. Months of collected practice culminating in violence. Which is usually the right answer. Middle names shifting to the back of hollwed out throats. Tapping against salivary puddles as I watch the souls of adult-shaped children leave their bodies.
5:15 p.m. - 2022-07-22
Recent entries:
Forty One Others - 2022-08-05
Sharp-Edged Angles - 2022-08-05
Little Girl Knives - 2022-07-28
Twilight Swimming - 2022-07-28
Too Much, Too Much - 2022-07-22
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