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
Friday, November 28, 2014
a wave in the wall
we are found, bow, so baby, I can't believe it
nod in the direction, looking down
hair, shimmer, clouds,
call it tease, and away
give yourself to pieces, no pain
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