Regardez:
Pencil shavings, a long note of.
Nothing
is as it scenes:
gentle tempest of French forks
crunch de pages
not a snore, but a susurration
a prehistoric dip
the child
in us
that steals
must don’t can’t have
and oui do, it is the adult in us
that gives away, death seems the cure
for awhile
suicide crawls our salt
then everything is taken by law, by selfishness, by custom, by time
Regardez
They light you up, pat you with a spade
Which’s why we built with pillars, very hopeful
Conspiracy sold separately