Muggy Seattle

Mind is lost here because I’m tired and exists only in the margins. Could there be a less coherent way of writing? Hardly a chance. The air is thick today – molasses. Small lasko fan propped against a chair because the legs broke off. Windows shut to keep out the predatory critters and to keep the cat in. Though I’ll crack them like rainier cans in a minute. There is a disheveled social phrase and custom. Well, goodnight. Deranged language. Felt euphoric with the conversation because I suddenly had things to say I meant to. The illusion faded because it was a mirage caused by melt pools on the sea ice and not at all the sea itself. no pods of narwhals bursting their ridiculous horns through today. Only oily hands and oily smiles make smooth and oily deals with tanker trains and deep sea sediment dispersal. What the hell? Nonsense. There are thoughts of writing. Exhaustion. And Oil. They are scattered and I need sleep. So goodnight for real this time. I couldn’t have made it without you.¬†You spiked heart rate you. You fossilized velociraptor claw you. You stoned witch, you.

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