a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love
affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
familiar ache: where the blood is
She speaks like a proposal, we
believe none of it. A possible
assignment, removed. Clearly,
from a quarter-inch away, but
we see too close. The
womb is where the warmth is?
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