Status: Missing: Between the mind itself and things, the harmony becomes so dynamic that it gives motion.
To: DS
From: VW
Subject: Re: A powder called regolith
I've become obsessed with this sunset tree. A chamber in which the most delicate taste and considerable abuse of a stepfather is captured. The most catastrophic day you
could write down good reasons to joggle as the drink is swallowed. That any new crater will obliterate the one before. A snake threaded, killed by the Impact. How easily a thing is broken.
Are we far from Ashland? But Oregon isn't THAT big—the throat of a man
to a midwestern girl obscured, received and projected on a gentle layer of powder called regolith.
A state divides into seas, perhaps water, the filling is dark, mandolin, harmonica, voices recorded on a plate that spins. To stay a girl holding The Beautiful then becomes an apparition by which the needle
lifted the singer out by the van raising liquid. A point of entry, rock composed, cooled from a molten state. The image of an object through a lens focused nine just-gathered lyrics for the store owner about to close the rarest works of poetry.