Status: Tricked: A study found that the introverted are most prone to feats of escapism.

To: VW

From: RS

Subject: Your animal face

To quiet and give absolutely. Nothing: a chamber under the control of its occupants or a measure of interest, if taken. Could floor the would-be players tied up like a

bell opened at the bottom like a moon. Meteor made craters fewer in the Maria perhaps air, a little water trapped inside independently

of its tether. In the sea so negatively buoyant so full, sinking or sinking become sodden, full

at a pressure no atmosphere or two or a straitjacket and the promise of rain. Breccias, which are fragments welded. Wielding such syllables and phonemes.

Your animal face is a field guide to getting left behind the bell spun blue the little town my ancestors immigrated, lost. They say space smells like steak and heavy metal. If lighter, the Highlands. If soils

contained glassy masses uncommonly generated. An explorer or escape artist to love a man women have more nightmares, despite a reluctance to scream.

An umbrella abandoned never talk dispersed amongst all these showers. And how the bells slept.


 * * *


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.