memorial day and there is nothing to do. fuck all gatherings that are happening.
divio wall, ovid oil.
tower fan rotates in the room, shushing a vertical three feet of air that falls apart into the general flow of the house corners. i haven't left this couch today and it is strange and late and my eyes are getting overly-acclimated to the dark
birds on the wires outside, humming threats like fossilized arrows.
long line of words winding down.
one day i will change my name to modus oren.
