What scribbles out the sides, longing for a place to go…
while I’m busy with other things
The sentences broke between them. Not twisting or scrambling, no encrypted script noising up communication; more like letter parts and chunks of words crumbling away before they even bridged the gaps. Sayings that collapsed on themselves as they emerged.
***********************************************************************************************************************************************************
At the point we begin imagining ourselves insane and institutionalized, conjuring car wrecks or dreaming deaths in the family to avoid our obligations…we are well-advised that something has gone wrong…
************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Whenever what might be called an “encounter” occurred between them, everything else grew less pressing, less…significant or unsurvivable. She became a solution and a re-solution all at one go…
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
fragments, in other words.
The days have to be enough…they’re all we have.
Polysemic Stupor 
Small crystals of salt, seasoning.
I am feeling squeezed out of being able to create these days, and my hope is that all of this non-creative activity is fodder-making for later… But hope is a restless state. Thank you for making words happen regardless.
Thank you muchly Summer