Friday

he ar t

ring time persona transformed into figure

he rhe a r t

In her heart lot ruins - as when a parking lot's chilled by the baker's dozen
next dooring its rarest tent catched the voice clog. Waggled by the truck of her arse,
he's shifted breasts to his mouth.A ural as any calling bard.
Wants to .
her

Yes, you said Sir
E.



a ruin of lots and timber! timbre timber!

for each ruin's brain a knock down dead forest cluttered memory. body ache. broken fell bell angelus de death. s's body strapped across the case.
fiction as it's done