Bluesky

The heat wave killed—baked—the musselsin the shallow Pacific tides. Peace, muscle:metaphors I guess, offering upironic wince, real grief—our longings in conflict with each otherleave a stink. Withered sea star,with your broken purple arms (or points)no one intended this. And mostlyno one sees what even happened,our imaginations hardly bother,you could be a cookie lying there,photographed not on a beach but in a pastry case:delicacy, intimacy, apostasy, emceelega, pira, falla, immedia