bridge_pin raze the last bit of blackened bone has lost its will to anchor the ball end of a copper cord it guarded for far longer than anyone thought the thing would last. no amount of hope or hurt will bend it back into being resolute. and so the string surrenders its tension to the torpor of time. a whole tone above the loneliest note on a western scale becomes a building block without a name — a sagging sigh that sounds like a wounded animal weeping with a mouthful of leaves. your thumbnail thrums the thread of a sail sewn into a sinking ship good enough to let you hold it in your hands. all this weathered wood, and not a song in sight. 251103 what's it to you? who go blather from