She came

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My fanny is her fanny. fanny and it's the frantic. Pantic thing. No, not thong belong and strong. The painter's tool.
She came





_____________________Franny not seen Jill in "ages." That's how a text went "in ages."

Jill's a solitary assemblage_mountain mold _ not cabbage or words in dust ~ ___ her selves necessarily became grievers. Night was a pair of clothes in the dove horn page of women and other becomings. Who was what in this world of debt and becoming?

She only knew the answer twice. Because writing was a machine that went on forever. A mouth crying at the night its infinite pleasure, its infinitely fine joy refining its ever stretched sentence ? Come along my upspeakers . Take your sex by the back door.


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