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, April 13, 2020
we listen to st vincent, we bathe in your oats, we cry into the cloud
we see a peel of paint float in our water (bc our garbage landlord appliance painted instead of reporcelaining the tub)
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