Bang! Bang! Is this what we name it? Surely some kind of assault? Stuttering, faulty, reticent? No amount of theory can restore me here. Observing the ruins.
A waving hand in the winter cold/street light and the word "apocalypse" she said, driving. My memory is perfect under these conditions, can cut through those kinds of ashes. Dashing back and forth. But I can name the best detail. The Colour Brown, momentary flashes, idealized and prescient.
One: full sun; two: full dark. Dark always fares better.
3 comments:
Are you right to document such memories?
These particular ones always sharp with nails and broken glass: beware.
I've got my flak jacket on.
I won't allow any of that poisonous debris to get me this time.
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