are out there.
22 Jul 2002 / 5:33 p.m.
the sound of an ice cream truck filters in through my window. it is cut in half by a police siren.
the fan is cutting pieces out of the thick air. warm and heavy, the pieces drop onto me. i hear bearings moving endlessly over each other.
i am damocles remembering the sword over my bed. i am watching the old wire. i am watching the sword. i hear bearings moving endlessly over each other.
god, portland, i don't want to leave you. i don't want to leave friends and heavy air. i don't want to leave your forests populated by moths and city whispers.
i am 27 in 5 days. i am blinded looking forward - the sun obscures clouds. behind me is debt, failed love, and a future i deftly sidestepped at every turn. i want to turn this engine off, i want the past burned like an old flag.
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