11/3/23

Brevity is the soul of a husk’s wit, and I want my words to sail on long winds into paradise. My words, canned and jarred and scattered. My words spent a lifetime spacebagged, breathless. I’m bloodying my palms on every tin lid, wrenching open every plastic sheath. An object can never be moved if it doesn’t reach the light of reality. A force can never be stopped if it’s as golden as my words. Fall on your knees and praise and crumple and rise. These and so many of my words, emboldened with longevity.