Defence against mourning, and forms of regeneration
28 November
They Don't Make Them Like That Anymore
I watched the sunrise today, but brushed off its moist caprice. This morning, the Earth was dissatisfied with something, and doom-laden. We both looked upwards, and we were diagnosed with hypotension. Perhaps, in the few hours following sunrise, I could drop the receipt in the street, next to the petulant ticket machine, and walk energetically back. And, I could tell where I was heading, because the writing seemed decipherable; a circle left by the can of beans sat neatly in the corner - it was perfectly round. I had half a flair for stealing winks from the adresser - one can find it by looking at the clouds sufficiently long. Ingenious homonymy! It breathes. Brívs.
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