open fabrics today there is nt anything … today. open tissues today there must be tears to fill a thousand buckets and for tears i save them in the weaving strands of my blankets. i suppose there musn’t be anything real to say to one another, only the strictly superficial and warm continental patterns of weather to fill our empty frames
there must be pictures today. i would nt want ontology today bishops today anything today.
i woe and wei oingo bin … today
