Dis quiet

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This hunger, see, this unquiet curiosity, this morbid fascination with restlessness, forgetfulness, disjointedness. You see it between the words, the bridges across the vowels, the howls of discontent. You’re primed, you’re pumped until something comes up that matters less; so confess, you’re not interested in the news cycle, you hike those miles in broken boots, and why? Your choice to fall asleep to your own voice, without a hint of wonder, well brother, don’t knuckle under, carry that weight, you brought it on yourself.

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