goodbye_blue_sky raze a man who doesn't know his own name hides himself away with the only living thing he cares for. they never touch. she tells him the clue to his name is in a song. it's born. the man's name is born. he asks the internet what the weather's going to be like tomorrow. they give him a graph that looks like a bombed-out mountain. they're calling for ascids. black insects that don't pose a threat to anyone. all they do is latch onto leaves and suck the moisture out of fissures in the flesh. in the master bedroom of born's house, his love lies wide awake in the bed they don't share. she sings to a small congregation of birds. they fly above her head. fix their feet to the wall. she calls them her shrews. ants dance across the headboard. elsewhere, two men sit at separate desks in a small office. they take turns reading a handwritten letter of born's. laughing at the misspelled words. one man forms a fist around the paper. the other man notices a sketch of the sky in the top right corner of the page. something a wise child might have drawn. both men fall silent. they can't remember the last time they looked up long enough to find themselves in that boundless indigo mirror. 230614 what's it to you? who go blather from