they've all gone away
Sunlight decays in dry grass of the Altamont. I will sit on the embankment and listen to my bones curl. I lost someone to an unmarked exit.
Clock hands beat the off-ramps.
San Francisco neighborhoods are filmed with a Super-8 camera and accompanied by out-of-tune piano and wind whistling through an abandoned house.
Everything keeps killing me until the sun is locked down and put away.