Sunday, April 2, 2017


a cyclenstic tongue sn
ores my ear it s pill
ow a neck twists o
ver ove de mis len
guas aire que se
habre cycloseic F
ire rises in the
waters later clou
ded with a nail me
mento sounded's for
king rain

lick the facial hair a
door wet paper s
lumping on the steps
dis solves r uns
down toward
street's hot bed

s t e e p w
i n



Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home