Frustration in the raw window hours of summer. Golden-red static filling ossified glymphatic space. Lungs rebuilt from sore jaws and extended release magnanimousness. Making promises to tomorrow's addictions, next week. The lullabye of smoke behind an infinite hill of clouds. Breathing deeply of sifted slate and deadfall mud. For a little while. But a little while passes so quickly in a nest of Sundaes.
5:01 p.m. - 2022-08-05
Recent entries:
Spinetumor Thursdays - 2022-08-18
Sometimes These Things Happen - 2022-08-11
An Endless Period of Adjustment - 2022-08-11
An Inventory of Unvocation - 2022-08-05
Forty One Others - 2022-08-05
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