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Saturday, April 7, 2018


 The answer is that it is always contingent. What was the question? Headless voluptuary of weather in a pond full of a) coy, b) melodrama, or c) enough/not enough. I need a milkmaid of false boundaries to blade the finer expression. Where’s the cord? Is that your thesis? Baby’s thirst words were the very womb of enormity! In profile barely reef. Waving in & out of sheaths of light I slip away deep under hearsay & therefore a part. Half shellfish half tart half surface for a certain sense via exclusive unconvincing literature seeking a novel, supersaturated literally wet nurse when the whole crowd crowns ravished another energy departs. I recross & doublecross trying to contain their names in us this paunch so puffed half-human half-humiliation. Get back in my luminous lament ripple. Sudden intimacy half-humid half-hunch

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