Holding up a missing finger to knock over water-filled ceramics. The goddess of spring comes for flowers. Three pounds of flaxen enlightenment. A small gray coat, pocked with leaves and frozen in a fetal position forever. Reluctantly dreaming about vomit-filled hallways, and the blush of poisoning. Closets emptied of hats, over and over, until an oracle arrives. Her face angular and henna-touched. Shiny ideas as casings for failure. Eyes wide in the glow of poor decisions. Many-hued dice without pips. Every cast of them another worthless confirmation. I still wake up every morning with hands fully intact.
2:57 p.m. - 2023-07-06
Recent entries:
Over the Days - 2023-07-26
Multicolored Avians - 2023-07-21
Total Unintended Shutdown - 2023-07-20
A Stutter; A Step - 2023-07-12
After the Rebound - 2023-07-12
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