Tuesday, December 22, 2015

fog proud

my meter clod cloud my
apse relapsed wore
full nor toweling bur
nt betide the indices
if indices the mind des
cribe or were a
laughing wallet no
thing left wells me
up a tide of mud the
walls collapsed .if
if the shoe's de
tached ,the sky a
plate of smoking lung

...a great, wet, muddy thing...
- Olchar E. Lindsann


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