to melt away


We streamed into the stream
The water we stood in
We stood in
Only once

We eventually returned to where
We came from
We came from a desolate place

We began to melt away

I was not sorry

We had been in time
In time we’ll be again
Or we won’t

What I’m Reading:

“Anaphora makes a narrative.
Every risk a colorfield.”

— Laura Wetherington & Hannah Ensor / “Feel Fragments”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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