crescent raze the half_moon is a fingernail clipping adrift on a bed of soft-washed denim. i'm the dog that runs to your feet when you get home. if i lose a leg, i'll teach myself to walk without it. if you lose yours, i'll carry you on my back. at the side of the highway where no one bothers to look, there are dunes of sawdust surrounded by the copse they came from. splintered trunks and friendless stumps. two butchered bodies stand inches apart, reaching for each other with phantom limbs, the last romantics left in a field of amputees. now drive on, and don't tell a soul what you saw. 220510 what's it to you? who go blather from