ever dumbening time, bloated in spots must—as tides and breaths—thin in others. and it's through this variegated landscape, textured and colored, where the edges of the day rub up against my skin.

the slope changes, and my muscles feel the shift, legs standing on a slowly rolling ship. it takes some time to rise to consciousness, though.

and in the past where these barometric shifts would only darken the ceiling, now quirky smiles rise and dissipate like steam.
what's it to you?
who go