tent raze she telegraphs the turns. leads me into a maze of cloth and curved cord. i'd kick over a chair if i could. douse it with the blood of an automobile. strike a match and let it fall. anything to mark my place and light my way. but there are no objects here to repurpose as lodestars. when this cotton cave spits me out, it's late enough to be licked by the beast that misses me most. the new_york_city skyline is all that separates us from the dinosaurs. our future fossils loom beyond that deep blue border, waiting on the hard stare of history. 240926 what's it to you? who go blather from