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 23, 2018
you are my pillow
on that shallow breath, valium, kid.
it slows the colors. are cold against hot.
a word of thought wears itself out, sits. sits
along without a know. long time. make it out.
suspend a float. a melody breaking noise into the woke.
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