bridge closed.

the bridge is storm-fenced and police barricaded and some buddy ripped the mac tenants united rent strike poster down. the pandemic feeling of hopeless grief—i've felt it before, it's not novel, it's native to me. yet this level of hurt i haven't felt before, or not in this way, the dread continuity, the vastness, the particularity, it's like a dream i can't wake up from, with dry eyes that seem to have been open all night, too dry to weep, and dreams are like days, and sleep is a different order of being, pandemic sleep.