This week’s evening light:
- Sunday, 8:42pm — tender blushed peach compressed under a darkening blue
- Monday, 8:18pm — pink fog then total gray
- Tuesday, 8:01pm — same as the morning, thick grey, bluish twilight filtering milky air
- Wednesday, 7:55pm — golden swath darkening blue
- Thursday, sunset — pink forming clouds pulled taffy puffs
- Friday, 7:56pm — waning baby blue, wails of light
- Saturday, 7:47pm — soft yellow cast shadows, sharp, green pulled light
Each passing day isn’t the same or no less familiar to before.
Minor threats of depersonalization thrive.
Are you posting guilt or vulnerability?
When does adaptation become submission?
< 24-hours after a murder, sunbathers litter the park.
Patches of grass worn thin from socializing.
Does a poem always have to have an image to make sense?
Where is hope, not as commodity but energy?
Regret and regards now partnered as the high and low tides.
Oracles continue to collect then sell the texture of amnesia.
Will we recognize our cumulative danger as real now?
When the common fades into spectacle?