Rocks along the bottom

A few low lamps mimic some kind of shrieking pluck of a moon. It pierces. Greenery outside is sharp, sways, but gives nothing of its pockmarked fa├žade. Transient shapes crumble walls inside. A siren blackens the wind every few minutes, skimming off the past. Look for me among the surface of those who swallow days. … Continue reading Rocks along the bottom