Here, the frame rate chugs processing a deep black

August 11, 2014

H

ere, the frame rate chugs

processing a deep black

and round ceremonious

rooms, she slow walks on

brackish | teak wood cat walks,

load bearing and shoring,

occasionally a torch in a

cachepot. | Do they sense your

heat? Are you programmed to

reverb? To disturb their baking

of beebread? | With hands like

yours and mine, from thin

proboscis, gross bugs arrow |

popping boba pearls of blood

colored the poison green and

yellow of oxlip | flowers. No

boots can help you here, no

poison proof | advisement just

passing, ignoring the elderly

drake expelling a miasma,

insects buzzing like a caxirola

| at the entrance of a deep

serration in the ground, like

crustacean labra. | When does

it become more error than trial

how | can those opaline lily

pads be so be so pretty in this

shit salicylic?