Squall
I will. Tomorrow.
And an explanation for being quiet.
As if silence can be explained, as if
an explanation is needed. Sonorous expectations
roll down the mud-tracked street. I know. Tomorrow.
And an expectation that all will be resolved.
Anticipation dissolves in puddles like so many
oily rainbows. Tomorrow –
isn’t that what you said? I forget. And leave
wet footsteps to echo through [...]
part circus, part conservatory
Momentile
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