Solitude/ Dyad

J.D. Harms
Nov 2 · 2 min read

Memories leap from the rain & crash, like drunks in an abandoned warehouse, shouting at each other only an ear or two away…each death of the drops, like un-invested tears, each ending in a pool, into a much bigger pool, starts the situation all over again. Like wounded prisoners clamoring for attention, for the medic, steeped in a different solitude, the bastard raindrops begin to dream before hitting the pavement; there’s a new puddle, a bigger drink, a freer…

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J.D. Harms

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committed to the aesthetic voice, forever charmed by the endurance of myth, aiming for synthesis

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