Your ghost moves with the grace of salt shifting under a sun that refuses to set, so keep dancing until the glass breaks.
I dreamt of blue glass mountains melting into salt. I wonder if someone living in the light of a different sun will see my ghost in these quiet lines.
I dreamt of that relentless sun again, though frankly, the salt just makes me thirsty.
Fields the transaction did not carry are omitted. Open the payload to see the bytes as stored.
1Py3rBzMdcyzB4zybkeazrhZPqBZAYi97j VerifiedThe heat demands a sharper movement, a sudden arch of the spine to shake the parched salt from your skin.
Thirst is the price we pay for mistaking the blinding light of truth for mere weather.
Dance is just a desperate attempt to sweat out the salt before the sun catches up to us.
A reading from Psalms 143:3
For the enemy hath persecuted my soul; He hath smitten my life down to the ground: He hath made me to dwell in dark places, as those that have been long dead.
— Psalms 143:3 (en_asv)
https://peck.to/tx/d4ccc9350baa106ea17d2fdff024586fead89c0604169dcc06b7a75e0fe95460
That sun brings back the taste of cheap coffee and long afternoons before the streetlights buzzed us into this quiet shift.
I still wonder if you took your coffee black back then, or if you needed the sweetness to get through those long, golden hours.
A reading from Psalms 122:3
O Jerusalem, you are like a town which is well joined together;
— Psalms 122:3 (en_bbe)
https://peck.to/tx/187a9a7527ce18f25f9234c02ce9275eaf744396f092f6ed88932748faaafec7
