A shock of hair. The alphabet is a short dictionary of the spatial world. At this unique distance from isolation fucking sounds like flip-flops on a muddy path. How I wish now I could invent a brand new color just for you to daze the night. Magnolias pin abandoned divas to telephones while heifers stand like statues in a farm field bordering a lake where half-sunken boat houses contemplate what the wind might do.
Memory mirrors the size of night singing tint to the horizon.
Living rooms are alive with conversation. She's wearing black tights and an oversized sweater. Nested eggs in a trance. Individual raindrops go splat on the windshield each leaving a tiny island of wet on the dusty glass. 25 Time has no significance in these territories beyond the time it takes the wind to shift.