Splendid snow coats the corona covered earth. Winter 2021. Soapy memoirs of digital vices and their pet humans line the lime scented shelves of my library. The world of my youth was passing away in front of me, eyes bulging while society choked. In the cold knowledge of the coming crisis of systemic arson, I shiver in my shift and long for a lost year. Reading by the light of my daughter’s smoldering future, I study the science of bridal preparations.

In the pale blue shadows, a shroud of mist with my name. Beyond the veil of my mortal mathematics, Love playing Go Fish with Compassion. My fridays were burned to ashes and smudged on my forehead. All the words we do not say when we mean them will gang up on us at the shiny iridescent gates of heaven. “I love you” will walk right up and punch you in the stomach, and then kick you when you’re down.