the haziness of hot summer and of cigarette smoke ----shimmers on blacktop---- makes me feel like I could melt. like my \\\ self could melt away. . .
i feel the weight of what is NOT me and of what will exist when i do not.
But,
I guess,
they're the same in a way: me and [ ].
. . . \\\ .
the mundane feels vast.
the "greatness" of "[un]-me" feels immense,
but familiar,
like. . . . . .
. . . \\\ .
''-'_____________''
How ever so sublimely we live through it all!
-rae
-rae
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