Lácrimas
The plants, they shine at night. A melodrama of wavering moths, sparrows, cicadas, shadows, streams, and towering trees. A dizzying and displacing garden in a lower-key. Joan, don’t despair, tear down that tree. Paul, keep running, just flee. Burt, you ignorant fuck, it’s not your adding machine. Montgomery, stop knocking, and leave.
Lácrimas
January 1, 2021
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