#scipionis

scalps and sculptures in the garage, so the eyes, so cranes, the outside of the shed. i'd have chipped em all of course with a forklift and experimentations i left by the time there was nothing anymore that could be done. the erer, the agent noun who dwells in perseverance, dewy handrails for the crash test dummy slowly decaying from grace. none of the images are mine, if they belong to you tell me and say goodbye. what a risk the half partaken unmembrance

i can and they can injure this nutshell only from within and for everything else i am the fresco of health besides the semidetached daub. beautiful as the pale sun, shining modesty, one vertebra at a time in the abacus which is getting shorter. the exegesis of my poetry starts in the mid '80s, so far it's just so tiresome, so too easy; or the neverending work, so too comfortable. albeit ecliptically, a mist mistold (any and every) now you are bravissimi amid the indifference - maestro and muse and muzzle. circa the sugarwater haste i had had even adders will be grasping at straws