Reason for driving has always been the scenery.

Bone clad and uttered sorcery, bound under the earth.


White, oh so white, you see. I see.


My left foot, a calloused and ashen heel.

I peel the dead skin.


It all becomes undone. My foot turns to dust as I scratch away.


In a bed laughing, but not for long. I celebrate this moment.

Breath in the binary.

You and me, grasping hand, bound in wonder, the mirth.


Flaking calves, skin like folds of dried dough.

What is hap...


I marvel as the torn sheets turn to pictures. They are not slippery when wet.

Must be all in my mind

And I gather them on crows (sic) for all to see.

Still locking the door behind me.

Closing the scab.


- "I am no one." Patrick Flannery