February 7, 2026

What is that Smell? The separate of dust yawning the tagged tallow hearse gave the right-center cold blue a coin in forever. A chain whistle blurts out the vassal soup, the mice were sodden as were their history.

Rash out and forward, the escapade, still taunting prunes, caresses in the droplets of budding waters.

Kick the swelling down. A minced tooth, grey matter morsel, the monster in whalebone. He felt around the flying dishpan for grain and found the upside down of salt. Leap down and whenever the cue turns and cuts the sliding mechanism strains the livered gate.

Broken hand, a sharp tune, play the child’s string play it and play it. As long as you play it and it sings.

Crested hawker without birthing plumage, a given orange aster bed smoking the stone, a wincing store bought and fed. He heads over sound in blisters of breeze, a last dark scallops the mooncore. When did it smell like that? It has an overzealous cap on the roof of it’s mouth and it floats as it smells like that.

Leather armband poking the poker with tips frayed and a bristled tendon plays for ideas and children. I have no feed, no mouth to cover my glasses with stillwater, just the sand in dreams in my seeing dreaming.