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
Monday, March 28, 2016
work for table, what do I own you next week?
I just accidentally wrote half a chapbook, after-studio's night, because, obviously, I have nothing better to do, and you just wrapped your arms around me and said, "I'm such a fan."
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