Do you think it's here? The long road into the west Will inevitably come into view. It was not as far as we supposed to the ocean. At night while the waves churned, the ghost of your little white dog danced on the periphery.
I touched his hat and it did stick, to test us both. His cigar-brown robes weirder dusts he incubates empowder me. Brittle, like chalk. In turns I hang or decorate anti-inflammisorries
How long shall I seek freedom in the myths we unmake licking hairy darkness or feeling sweetness of hips through untamable wildness of the heart chase images that abide circles of paroxysm ascending from the mist and raw voices staring spume in the faces
No danger to Simone. She already knows the place of incomprehension, began with that as first principle. Enter the void of your own abjection, she’d say. Seek truth, but first face the void, cold and dark but safe
