you'd hear in the local a rhyme for what'd been written days ago. no matter.
it's a dark season. resonant. I'm reassured by clouds and cauliflower candles.
we'll put them by the bed sides. no words to slip off in the night for veins.
"I'm elated" in the way of dark lines over a frozen lake. current script. of
call it the world's ink. written while the sky's no more than the land's what.
a question he used to find the next. drama maybe birds. hardly an intoxicant.