Took little forks from drawers down to the seashore. Took dirty little forks out of the dishwasher and threw them into the sea. It was a sea but I called it an ocean. My private ocean where I listened, reflected, did all that stuff you’re supposed to do when you’re sitting alone on the seashore with tiny little forks, gazing out across a hazy body of water, lapping waves and mental erasure; the aging erosion.
[Visit full site to view media]Everywhere Else Is Just Right Here by Michel Banabila