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ever dumbening
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These thoughts will be, though they will not be contained. There is only today, and the epiphany is not coming today. The vineyard's confetti of autumn shades linger and dissipate of a sudden. With arm and hand extended, fingers slightly raised, I catch the sun in my palm; it passes through and out.
I share these things with a girl named Mango. The crunch of feet on a graveled shoulder along New Orleans' River Road. The taste of the other, and secrets of the taste for the same. The alkali canvas. Pad_thai, the spiced fish, and the youth-sipped vinegared broth. The glass, tossed. The craft of the brilliant Argentine, spoken and heard. The sharp scent of machine-turned earth. Uncertainty and the miles-long thread, knitted of white stripes.
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021115
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