#devotionaryregard

the sun is cresting on the eastern lips raised land out there on the ridge where cell towers own the zone & rent it municipally. lydia makes sigilistic sound come out her skeletone, weaves (as on her sewing machine "janome") a lapping, incessantly shifted (italics) azure or angled hue liking it to a refracted elegy to desire since life is precluded. i cant be here & not really be here. no halves. but the whole is elusive, epharmaceutic (drugged?) or presumed to be gone cos rents too high or some other such shady shit.