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
Thursday, May 31, 2018
that place we always went, is dull now, and it makes me wish we weren't so bright
we come home as a detailed report
published in the last week alone, to observe
the first time that we kissed, entertaining certain sins,
two theoretical black holes couldn’t
exist. or, we'd be twins
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