Me after outing myself as an ao3er:
memory recall
This mortal eye scratched like vinyl and popping like sun burst skies the bow of hands to chattering rain a soothing river to the front all the way to the dry back garden the people at rest in the alcove blackened with text are the walls and the nooks those patches of wisdom in these sorts of houses we talk in swift and unmistakable looks and the dead body language of rhythm All in all it's what must be done to feel warm or failing that, at least reborn back to a trusting age there's the myth about time having talons and we are all bound by something so vast that cues nature's stage
A review I did for Jeffrey Lewis and The Rain. To say I enjoyed it would be an understatement.