undead maurice to its muse
& She Wore Silk Stockings 2
Again mes mots maulx ma mo more moire
the millions of moths in my mouth the caved
timeslits, le vide strung to robe me deep into the arse
as in fear's fearing fear to new depths of fear
& taking the blaim for showing how it was for us
the only way of being here for the Voice part
We mean of the scheduled part for Whistles & Voice.
But yes it seems every writing postp(h)ones you, so
sure no yes i don't want you up here, for i am not Any
& Her at least i own, am owned by Her very angry
nearness up North readily mixing any all too clear
speech of newly fisheyed marble question marks
with the old familiarity of dirtied river answers
linked to more moire & tired mots & tadpole
© F.A.L. Dirk Vekemans
with a forward to
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