flap raze i lost the black plastic box that heats my unclad hand when nothing else will. i slid it in my pocket, charged and caked in the dust of my most trusted single-seed stone_fruit, and let the nichrome wire do its work on some of the thinner skin i own. once i was out of the cold, my fingers couldn't find what they needed anymore. i revisited every place i'd been that morning and some i hadn't seen since the day before. i checked the fridge in case i gave my glory to the vegetable crisper to guard in a moment of exhausted bewilderment. i was weighing the idea of losing my mind against the very real possibility of some sadistic deity pranking me when i let myself probe the flap in the fleece that lines the jacket pocket i've made my makeshift furnace. there behind a tear in the synthetic flesh was what i thought had fled, as warm as it was when last we met. and i thought: this is what desperation looks like when you have so little left to hold onto. 260310 what's it to you? who go blather from