Look, daily stuff(s).

With earth you wonder whether God lit
the wrong end of a cigarette, tossed it aside.

-J. Harrison

Pigeons in Butte, AK —

We’re colliding; these years new and old. Like river rocks, they clack and re-arrange, sidling up to time as though friendship isn’t just the devouring of another. Dreams are built less of passage, more from accumulations and wide normality.