Passing graffiti in the desert, I wonder, who are the artists?
What person came to this barren, unforgiving land where one can drive for hours without passing a house, a business, another human—and decided to make their mark here in the middle of nothing?
Much later I realized, we are all artists of one kind or another but some of us are brave enough to paint the desert.
the words “archery” and “acrid”
summer storm clouds
the sound of crows
the time — 11:11
dreams of flying
used book stores
an old pair of jeans
helvetica and garamond