this country does noT exist

12:36 AM

The moon was gold like violets in February, and the grass green like radishes pulled from the dark recesses of the fridge. The air smelled of diamonds--coal burning in the microwave; and life breathed down my neck with the self-importance of a forced whisper during morning vespers.

Rain falls like similes.

I like the like creatures like morning likes dawn.

Words and intentions fail.

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