a chasm yet full: break do walls of white noise and fingernails on brick
Where I once stood, yes, I saw that lone structure, yes, the blackness of true.
write when there’s nothing; so, when life turns back around, you will not miss it.
The show's a big top, ball-balancing seal, fed with a greenback salmon.
blood smells of iron and tastes of metal and the universe is us.
spiked skis and bob sleds discern sound and friction as husks of winter snow.
collective scorn seized the ire of the crowd, and left was little light.