spoils_of_the_flood raze seven years ago i swam through a sunken city and woke to rivers where streets had been when my head hit the pillow. they said it was the last gasp of a hurricane that tore through texas and louisiana. all we lost were a few strips of old carpet and a vintage video game cartridge or two. nothing that couldn't be replaced. black mold covered a handful of things i'd written long enough ago that i forgot they ever came from me. phone numbers and love_letters and self-directed missives. i scanned what i couldn't save before throwing it away. a creased cue card held hopeless words inked in red on one of the more demoralizing nights of my life. slanted letters slouched between the lines like feeble ghosts, not quite faded past the point of recognition. a tactile metaphor made more meaningful by being bullied into leaving. 240813 what's it to you? who go blather from