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
Saturday, January 30, 2016
**not sure who I am, because there are several of we**
Small, discreet, jokes
goes unnoticed, buying
the grey-hairs, the dads
of the room, and we look
at each other with broken
bodies
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