Telling: Streams & Logs


alley shit

Thursday 8:32am
In the overhung alley, the smell of shit. But whose? I cannot keep myself from wondering, even as I push myself forward, not slowing to investigate.

I prefer stepping along the small grassy verge than the concrete or asphalt, but there are dangers there -- the hidden hollows, ant hills, wasp holes, the dog shit, the broken glass.

I see very little on this walk, all my attention turned to the building of language that might be presented to the world, a mask that pretends to be me by being formed so carefully of my truth.