Claire Novak as the city of cultivation and theology and sin: C a r t h a g e
I know nothing but black holes and silence and quakes like the gut of Jonah’s whale, leaving my carcass bare - skinned and longing for your still cold gardens, mapping time into my bones. Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Yet you leave me empty, and so I will fall to the multitude of subsistences warring over my hungry immortal soul, for you changed me and change I did become.