11.04.25
Granny comes in again
of gliding the noises
you barely speak to,
each more never & nomore
hope away in that pace
that south facing chaise longue
that cart that carries its own road
that stem like instinct calant
how is it in blitzvile?
the inn of cobblesmouth cramps
London hearth pieces meet pieces
of Orbital runic ceiling
walk under quiet divils root
& finds cloven feet
& you speak by the wayside
turning themselves into hares
& stealing butter from rain again
