this transcontinental fuckup brought in slugging flunk matching flurry of activity with noisome oblige. he smells of all the bad on cross county rapaciousness and a hell of a thing. we have something smaller now. the smell is very exact, like marginality. well. 166 years ago the confederate army heads away from intent and union becomes like books and enclave, all the way to market. that’s why we chat like this, portion control is for children. have a great rest of your day and let shoddiness never impede.
poems, fireflies...