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Tags: lungs

Not even the constant screen of orange dust can obscure the moon’s impending impact from the dream-inhibited throngs that clog the arteries of MantraRay with their needs. Colonel Lombard Park’s trees hang heavy with it, as if bearing the brunt in punishment for their lack of mobility.
Eva sits on a bench there and fills her lungs with vapour from the tank on her back, in, out, in, out; you knew this was coming but what could you do?
What vantage point is suitably distant to allow the witnessing to take place? Certainly not from here, you say, as the liquid in your lungs vibrates to the tide of gravitational collisions.

Tales for an attention deficit world

An after-the-fact outtake from Penumbra?

This post first appeared on The Far Queue, please read the originial post: here

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