island of wounds

In the dream of my childhood street, I think there were no shadows, and that strikes me as wrong, off, as odd. Maybe it’s the point. But my childhood seems to me as if it were only shadows, at least as I remember it. Not literally, of course, but… What is this neon-bright and ultra-high sunlight at noon? These flowers all explosions of color? Reds, yellows…[for piano, electric & acoustic guitar, for harms and the harms, tape, trifle, trope] This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit briancshort.substack.com