written_in_bone raze change_one_letter and a producer of haitian and canadian descent becomes the key to a country you won't find on any map. the woman who's taken this name haunts a concrete curve where airplanes fall and fight to take flight. "to be without me is kind of like killing myself," she sings. you let the truth of that sink in. downstairs, ron's getting into the southern_comfort again. shelby smirks and watches him bounce off the walls. every coat hook is already spoken for. a blue_jay bruises the hardwood, writing a poem with tendons and bone. a haiku no tame heart could hope to hear. you remember how it was when you were a dark-eyed dog siphoning love songs from shattered conch shells. sometimes, when the rest of the world is asleep, you tap into what's still wild in you and wail. you die a little more each time your wet_nose whines to tell the wavering world you were one of its dirty denizens. 250621 what's it to you? who go blather from