Rinsing away nauseas in the wake of a dead river. The smell of overripe warmth and unsuccessful spawning. A sharp-billed goose watches over it's shoulder, while we both dodge tardy pockets of fall slough. Cultivating a routine of foolish ulcers. Decanting synthetic peaches, and the silent shattering of twice-folded glass, before the welcome of starvation as the climax.

4:41 p.m. - 2022-09-29