30.1: MADE
Whip and tongue
There's no comparison, I know, but sometimes
In one tidy [snickering bookstore] package
I'm waiting for someone to count me in.
Mick’s Coos
I. all over again the crescent curve of his back written on your lips II. he'd idle behind spilling over glistening stones sometimes, not enough III. someone imagined him inside the shell of a car it looks nothing …
Posted in 30.1: MADE Comments OffThe Footing of the It
The foot on the wood, the heat surging through the It – seems the grandeur to the fauna (here with the public; here in the sauna). the long way makes the hot top the bitumen of the home. the exile …




