White-bodied black bird raven like creatures that sit everywhere and obnoxiously yell to each other from the wilderness we live inside.
Wet birds. Soaking in mod colors affixed to the numbers the looms set in the torn threads of an old tank top named with the characters of Dune.
And in sweetly moving breaths of air the peaks pull through this range of mountains seen from our back deck.
Friends, join us as we balk putting away cardboard boxes as not to put a hinderence on the relationships with our neighbors and instead traverse the moose-trails the tourists stop and crop their lenses at- only to make to Brouhlim's.
Written in my new home of Jackson, Wyoming