Van Nuys, California

Things tend to blur after sunset. Details tend to fuse, as though minimized through fissures in the eyes. Edges have a different sharpness, that which reduce forebodings in hallucinations, make them appealing, even seductive. The sound of cars recedes like slurs, in the language of propositions that echoes in rear-view mirrors.

Reroute

I drive through freeways in your thoughts, but you've blocked all the xits.
I roll down the windows, for the wind to blow your mind in mine.