gun animations

sleeping with the animations of guns in your hands.
outside the snakes are made of computer monitors.

I open the door carefully and think about how I don't want to die or be imprisoned.

I creep slow and small against the hot dust all the way into a remote and far away hidden place. This place is protected by departments sworn to secrecy, an ancient grove of bristlecones.

cringe at the dying safe sector watched over by open feeds with default passwords. you transformed before me and I followed and subscribed and waited while flights of hope or belief stretched out as newly invented limbs.

crippled by amateur art and a love for dying flowers, it made me pause. and scraped me across river flats that have been busy strangling time. snails and ants climbed me.