(Untitled)

[inselberg]

A mist wraps thick dewey arms around the morning. I know John's house is somewhere across the expanse, but if vision means communication, the world has fallen in a trance of dense indifference. Each day I look toward him and his family, their windows blinking electricity, but today I imperatively judge my own sense of time by the ache in my bones

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[apathywithin]

I'm in the city of wind and work with formerly incarcerated men. Fun stuff.