Spring '07 TOC
The air spewing from my overhead vent is a mixture of cheap bourbon and bananas
The snoring idiot beside me has ceased his garbled song, the weeping infant pacified
Official announcement: “We have begun our final descent.”
The smell has passed but not the irony
Teetering between smog and cloud closing in on what once were thick, southern forests now bludgeoned patterns of land, scathed by warehouse rooftops
Ruminating on what will one day be read from hieroglyphic city structures when we adjourn to post-death dreams
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