carson-bouquet

April snow. / God is waiting in the garden. / Slow as a blush,

snow shifts and settles on God. / On God’s bouquet. / The trees are white nerve nets.

Thought:

“Anything can happen: anything. Or nothing. Who can say? The world, monstrous, is made that way, and in the end consumes us all. Who am I, administrated or no, to have the audacity to survive it?”

Brian Evenson

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