Voodoo gunnery stationed at the patio, true to go.
We'll be ready this time.
Kick back and steady for the klaxon-affect, reading obscenities off white noise waveform so we have something to talk about later.

Through the fence, moire reels. Tastes so strong you hear them.
Average and ordinary w/ wood grain stain,
it's an awful name but I do know how to use it.
No size fits nothing and bacteria for bravery.
(Says so on the receipt.)

This is the midnight scour, the name you pour on the wound so you don't have to explain, so you'll never have to explain.
This block is wire-salad in three easy servings. How it feels, how it looks. Tenement coalition living off the land and stripped copper.
Hometown is pawn shop aesthetics on dried oil slick and medical surplus.
Prosthetics and stucco.
This time we'll be ready.
Mouths to feed for silence and the thought you're still above it all, pressed in halves and torn.
Meanwhile breeds the nuance.


Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas