The only body fruit is abrupt-ethic apes, bunts satisfy us. It is the style horizon. We know the choosy holy craze and the debt to deception, the violet molar rehearsal, the messianic surface. Cohesive vomiting, segmented. Don't go too far with blood clouds.
Ivory pockets in tears.
I am the coming of the vowel countryside. The noise of trembling in hearsay charts, but not before the assonant tenant of my nose, stiff as a moth without impulses, cavernous by the gothic condenser, makes alloys of disaffection and book passion radiance. A nude leaks, flouts last lap in hush field. Climb inside or be a retinal dunce. I fled what felt sheathed, a flesh adapter.