it’s not like a cold

Gavin leaves Friday morning.

Thursday a group of us are going to Massive Change. A Future Design installation encompasses enough personal loves to perhaps make some happiness spark from these tired fingers. I can feel my lack of sleep in my knuckles. Stiff cello swaying in the turn of my head. I’m visceral under the knife, my skin peeling back to expose nerves. Slick red hands with glass fingernails.

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