Crashing
Down the middle are white birds flying against the hard, black sea. They fly past me, almost through me, and thin sun beams follow quickly past. The end of the sky is met with gray ashes that run down the seams keeping the whole scene together. A rumble under my feet reminds me of the continents shaking and growling as they moved into place. Rubber against the deep, asphalt sky rolls and pushes off the wings of the white...
