dusted raze there are shelves between shelves, narrow breaches in the polished timber, easy enough to miss but not impossible to find once you know where to look. that's where all the powder pools, in particles so thick they might as well be lint. any hand that slides between those two painted planks isn't coming back. neither is what lives in the gap between what's lost and what won't be forgotten. but we won't be buried beneath the dirt of indifference. this tissue my cloth. this hammer my heart. these ovules my eyes, alive inside the womb of an evening not yet grown. 220209 what's it to you? who go blather from