Freewrite (10/8/18)

you said to me:
a day of Frictionless Photography
echoing down the street illuminated by
eyes that blink and stare
a radio playing backwards
a memory over vhs
a torn flannel shirt
a siren shakes the walls
and dust falls from the ceiling
through sunbeams this sunday morning
after the flood, just mist now
ice cold water, condensing on the window
blood rush to the head
a crowded room full of roots
and branches and knots
and fallen leaves turned brown
soaked in my soul
full to the brim
of emptiness
(depending on your perspective)