after_the_storm raze sometimes you wake up and nothing much happens. no one leaves their dog outside to scream its inarticulate rage at the world for more than a few minutes. there's no man to mutilate a tree's embalmed offspring five feet from your head. a woman might sweep the grass behind her house with a broom in the absence of any meaningful task to tackle, but she has nothing to say to you, and you prefer the silence to any kind of feigned friendship that might have grown up between the two of you if you cared enough to cultivate that sort of thing. the soulless slumlord who lives across the street and three houses down doesn't make good on his threat to spread more stones where they aren't needed. to the best of your knowledge, nothing you love has died that wasn't already in the ground. the day is yours to do with as you please, unimpeded by the usual difficulties and disruptions. you thank the animal you pray to in place of a deity that gave up on you years ago, grateful for the soft new flesh that lives beneath and between the scars you've been saddled with, along with some you made yourself. 240626 what's it to you? who go blather from