| simian_grasses | ||
| z | also. and the letters are drying. i know nowhere that will remain after the frog. The deeps are filled with sand in my mouth. can't swallow the grit. muscles under skin are knotted and sleep is scattered. wind passes, bringing no relief, or pain. neutral wind carries flinty odor. i cast the pebble down the well, and survive to hear the dry crack as it hits bottom. dry days and drier nights. i open the sky. | 140115 |