Raunch the rarity right out of me. Dare. Its

wrapping without rampart. So what could

an edifice possibly be? Not knowing can

be the greatest power. Dark and rumorous,

milking the dirt. Pots thrown from the bottom

of the mudhut, a leather horse. Weeps sticky.

Collects the fear. Under the bee bell: fresh hell:

slit of Saturn in a skycradle. Bile of Mars. Collect

all in stills. To know your own secrets, start by

emancipating those ladybugs and letting that

shock go to seed. It is not hyperbole to say that

log is flensing, or that this is escrow in perpetuity.