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In a time of caterpillars, nausea spirals as plate and spoon infrastructure.
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| "the finger on this chin entices me to join the waltz. by days, the wax is melting." | |
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| the volume at 10, spider footfalls treat the streetwalk sleeper to avalanches. | |
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Lie in Grace. that dangling from the ceiling cannot read maps. the highway system has become home.
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| this tumultuous trek under the labyrith of clones has blossumed a turpentine glacier. | |
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| all "proceed"s go to "with the letter". | |
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A stomach of spider eggs is cured when they hatch. but have the bite marks conspired?
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| "but cry not. this pearl has graced the pages." | |
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| "but cry not. this pearl has graced the pages." | |
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