blue sky was only sun. the kind that keeps you swallowing and raining for the duration of walks or the number of dark needles between your hard toes. warm water softens to let me pluck them from my insensitive skin, the kind that tree roots had inscribed with a marred sense of justice.   cellophane — transparent materials or something i remember better and impossible movements were inevitable in the economy of “way back thens.”   blood, purple, and sour vomit in my parent’s home:…Continue Reading “the culpability of distance to burn a place by Micah Giraudeau” →