Voices on the Wind Voices from Home
Patio nihilists by Lars Samson The late-afternoon breeze was friskier than its usual, serene self. Blowing up the dresses of leafy trees. Shoving some burly trunks as if looking for a scuffle. Behind the taming chain-link, cobblestones remained aligned and indifferent. But the plastic furniture grew more and more brittle. They know these raw materials will be buried, in a planetary wink, leaving winds with nothing to justify themselves. Organic matter choked lifeless. Compressed into oil. To be boiled down to plastic.