salted ovenbird I seek the shock of salt. Something keen to cut against the threat of treacly promises. Pepperoni and basil drizzled with honey; melon and prosciutto; brie and cranberry; sweat and coconut lip balm. I refuse the dull content of platitudes. If I find I’m not a little bit bruised I’ll apply leeches to the soft divot between thumb and index finger and watch blood rise to the surface. Let’s grind our hearts to finest grain in beauty’s heavy mortar. And lick the brine that finds the arc of unexpected rapture. 260122 what's it to you? who go blather from