is not by Indigo Tempestalike a plant reaching for dark, dully slumps an empty jacketmaxs, whom i havent seen in days. empty elephant skin leaning impassively; it does not mind our crooked chairs loveless limp embrace.
there is, can be, nothing less abrasive less upsetting than this apparition. a ghost is naked somewheredont get excited. only let pool this meaningless sanctity with its guise of smooth cloth.
those arms are not max. they do not endeavor to be him. those hanging vine sleeves, wrinkled bunched torso care nothing of life, melting into a puddle, painting our carpet in thick drips.02/15/2004 Posted on 02/15/2004 Copyright © 2025 Indigo Tempesta
|