autonomous limos all lidar no light all night drive silent

i think the Somme thing again all blood and bacteria

inching sandwiches into the mouths of portraits exiting soft galleries

unbounded solidus it is very matrix it will ruin me yet

this dream’s being easier to write with when tied to a stick its avian simplicity compiling owl calls too whoing the night

and lifting through the dawn a wind and in the wind an admonition

as if from a mother long dead with no business now to swirl this impossible flask above her lab bench burning