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
Sunday, February 3, 2019
voice-writer, you sound hopeful in the silence
records of the domain. almost four years ago.
it had not laid this flat flesh down upon you yet.
it had not drowned out without hard work for gain.
we left the hand in darkness. ~i thought myself an exile~ between two mountains.
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