compost raze all things are bent by the weight of days past the point of breaking surrendered to the greater good or some lesser evil content to stir its artifice like a clueless caretaker fragile in agility it's a kind of hush that falls over us it's a kind of rain we'll never see again when the part you choose to throw away doesn't fragment or disintegrate the heat that lives inside its skin will convert itself back into leaves when the skyline bleeds and the colour runs that's another way of waking up when the air we breathe is copper dust i guess that'll be the end of us 170220 ... unhinged my arm strains against the bucket (i wait til it is absolutely full to take it out, delaying until tomorrow what should be done today) there is mold already growing like a strange flower all the liquid left in the coffee filters, grounds sticks the biodegradable bag to the side of the bucket i gag on the smell of decomposition and shake myself out like a dog i hold the bucket at arm's length as the coffee drips 170222 what's it to you? who go blather from