the bloodshot eye known as the Sun looks down with
contemptpityindifference the smoke an acrid curtain between each person and every thing you’re not sure if you’re still dreamingyou hope it is a dream maybe the fires aren’t real either way, you p r a y for something to change but every time you pray, the smoke loiters longer
it’s not distance, it’s just separation it’s not hell, it’s just purgatory not a reaction, just a consequence not a punishment, just an admonition
inspired by: being stuck inside while wildfire smoke is poisoning the air
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