I walked all the way here but it's gone. In its place stands a gray field, clean as a bone. Rays of yellow filtered through filaments of green float lazily on the warm concrete. It doesn't speak to me like it did before, so I silently stare. Where is the carpet, the lunge, the towers? I'm still here, it answers. I'm hiding in your throat, staring silently out.
Type: art.prose.original
Produced by: The Bye
Notes: in retrospect
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