so_far_away raze my right foot keeps telling me it's on the verge of cramping when i've done nothing to make its muscles want to contract. i break a stick of blood-flecked bird shit in half with the long finger of a tree's dead hand. there are so many things half-hidden in the tall grass: a lettuce-like sheath of maple seeds. a darkened piece of discarded plumage. huddles of chickweed in full bloom. a length of living fabric that refuses to explain itself. a small stone. something that fell from the mouth of a punch_drunk mountain. and three white button mushrooms. their faces as white and wild as any i've ever seen. somewhere in that medley of green and grey you'll find me, weathered by the world's great weight — as distant as unsure thunder, and close enough to let you count every sweat-slicked pore i own. 230620 what's it to you? who go blather from