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.