As I was walking home the other day on Clark Street I noticed writing on the ground and so I read it as I walked. Reading a word or two written in every other square, sometimes 5 squares apart. Who did this, I wondered. It was an interesting end to my semi-typical day.

the air, appearing and disappearing at the same time. it could be your last breath, unwinding in a slow downward spiral, an unplanned detour leading you to a delicate nowhere and hollow as grass.