2.19.20
GARFIELD
we’re speaking through the stories of archetypes
deaf histories with legends about legends with throats too raw to tell themselves.
So we cover the drywall Mardi Gras, knowing Ash Wednesday did more than confess on its knees for the preacher.
Who can blame her.
Name one person who wouldn’t suck off sanctity-pretend for a chance at sanctuary, and I’ll call you a liar.
Or maybe you haven’t war, my friend.
Instead we thank the secrete lovers with their potions and elixirs, or the ones with clock to the timer. Makeshifters turning garden nights to fantasy. A time where friends are just that, no doctors turning stethoscopes to your cadences, Hydras spawning heads in a loved one’s confidence, no tension lines between lovers old or new, instead, a night where accidental accents fit the story-line.
for that, I’m grateful.