Filthy Graffiti Bridge With Dead Bird Floating On Cake.
Hiking last weekend we washed down a river paddled by our surreal commitment to special effects. For me there was no later to that day, only flying transparencies in the current and echoes of our fruity exchange iced over by shadows of a heavy blue girder.
It was my turn to speak but I broke apart. Scratched lettering took up the most room on that bridge and the smallest thing was taking up the largest part of my breath – scrawling along I felt the inverse of outdoor activity. I felt internal, made of sugar, heavy and steel. Remembering and projecting, rowing and walking. Simultaneous derivations were flying all around your calm oblivion as your personal space baked and cured in pace with the sun.