Sunday 1/22/2023 11:37:00 PM

 solvent conspirators wear their leaden cloaks. the numbers give us context. but the measure remainss unknown. 

we stumble through the mayhem of gravity. on crutches made of clay. all our monsters remain sober. while we lose sight of our heroes. 

textures of flesh ripple through rotting candy houses. a long series of diseases that we use to make us whole. 

tomorrow slips out of its gown to reveal the breadth of our grief. we look up from the bottom of that staircase. much too small to make that climb.  

we hold our breath as the ceiling collapses. more alive in that moment than in all the years that came before it. 


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