Status: Detached: Astronomers declared that space smells like bacon and molten rubber.
To: VW
From: RS
Subject: Your animal face
Have you given up on the web already? Rare is the creature can match your skill, engineering funnels, sheets, spirals and tents. Silk spun crosshairs for feeling.
This is my third visible poem. A long series of steps prompting an apology for hands conscripted to decorate temporarily. To regulate excess with the measure of your own body. Greater than the weight
of moths, the sole inhabitants of a space I saw you circling in a low orbit. The person of whom I shall not speak has my copy of your book by rain cooperating unless cooperating
means an incubus split then pressed against film. Cartilage, skin and all. Women have fewer disguises than men, despite an ability to sew.
Your animal face is a field guide to getting left behind in the little town my ancestors immigrated, lost. The bell spun blue the smell heavy, if metal. If lighter, the Highlands. If soils
contained glassy masses uncommonly generated, an explorer or performance artist to love a man women have more nightmares, despite a reluctance to scream.
* * *
Status: Tricked: A study found that the introverted are most prone to feats of escapism.
To: VW
From: RD
Sent: November 29, 10:26 pm
Subject: Re: 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 suitors 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
to create an atmosphere lacking pressure or a straitjacket and the promise of rain. Breccias, which are fragments welded. Wielding such syllables and phonemes. Never talk dispersed amongst all these showers. An umbrella abandoned and how the bells wept.