half_light raze remnants of what last night's rain wrought darken the dirt and stain the tarmac with memories of whatever we were when dreams buckled our knees and bent us into less familiar shapes. a parked car takes your trunk away, bisects your body with its red gloss, and in the soft haze of half-light i take you for a left-leaning man caught mid-sway, a reluctant operative filling your cognitive dossier with whatever you think you see in me. i could fill a few sovereign states with all i've found in you, and you aren't even what i think you are. 220526 what's it to you? who go blather from