on tuesday you walk the beach, in btwn the veil

for grandmother mist

my jacket smells like solidbackofthroatthwunk so it’s like you’re pulling one right from the plug cork bar accentuate the r like rrroar

–grease.  it was the most fun i’ve had since the baltimore highlands, last st. pats

fried mac n chz.  the only time to go there is when the vortex opend, past dorchester, down the breezeway, shadow creeps

so after midnite, & we were

it was.

to the fog out the door, she says, eye glean warm front devastating the saturation clog uprootn low land rain, fog.  it says, recall: when sepi got married it was lunar beltane. in the morning on the deck in south pas you lay, newly broken priestess n crow shamanized

death.  recall fuck you crow the i who used to say this said, & crow who used to say this too

fuck you, you’re already dead

cross-eyes back through the mist.  image molecules of my bones waterfall from my breath flow out of and recreate again, again again   this rain air rain fall frenzy mist grace between states fog of

grease smell ~

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