the_promise_of_rain raze car knifes through skittish gravel, making music as it goes. a voice and the body it belongs to shrinking to a murmur, a pinprick. blue-grey quilt not near enough to touch promises a small flood to be wrung from its deepest dermis by careless hands. it isn't a threat when there's no doubting the outcome. promises are perfect swimmers, solemn and unknowable. threats are kinder things. 250821 what's it to you? who go blather from