I'm tired out here in the reach, waiting for it with arms open wide. Examining the scars, the teeth, the loves, the hate, the anger, the sap of humility, the passion, the fruits, I don't recognize what I see. I don't know what I should do now, uncomfortable, inanimate, open and futureless, my brain rots, my muscles wither. This is the blanket, damp over my mouth, as the sleep never comes and the rain never ends.
Photo by Russell Cowling 2009
