Root task

Semblance of an idea
where recurring images are vandalized into symbols, which ripen as war fodder

You live in and out of these bright spots. Your frustration is a beacon, a warm embrace in the desert.

A silence that feeds into a whisper when the night clouds light up to underline a thought, a dream too heavy to stay asleep. Where the dead leaves are crushed underfoot, and crickets rub themselves and fluffy anvils float overhead. When you finally come to rest, when the grease congeals into simplicity, your life will be a series of tasks

You will tear apart your memories in shreds of apology.

The pain will blossom, and overflow