The sparks I collect disappear from the jar again. New flint scrapes my skin. Knees bleed just a little through the pulp. The salt taste tiptoes on your tongue. They come again on the froth. You dangle your legs in the stream. 5000 miles and 52 string lights.
The blinking white glow from the side of my laptop watches me while I sleep. I dream about sudden anger from a stranger. I want things to be right. I crouch in a dim staircase. I wake up there, a gasping puddle. The morning shrouds us in haze. My veins ache.
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Thank you so much for your comments, especially if they include limericks about skeletons.
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