Tiny Mix Tapes

– Story - “3” “3”

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Urban squalor among graffitied muck. In the sleep of a cracked sidewalk vines climb the tenement buildings of Time.

Meet me there—here. An endlessness that mimics a separateness. A syllable in the rain, wrecked to shreds, caught in forms.

Phoenixes quincuncially overhead. Their warmth turns into a sound, lush amid ghosts.