Degrees

This town is a proverb: a woman waiting. Thoughts have citations, skies are marine. All this strong weather. Chance is dead or just got tenure. Mt. Olympus is a tea. Fleeced heads loll on valedictory brick. Jam jar gaslights hold not much new.

Views

Anorectic transplant flashes skins at fashion sisters, Liquid Paper arms, vanishes as an and into an aesthetic. Home

a lead painted hut. An occupational art therapist makes luxury cubes. She photo shops. A liberal arts stripper silver collars herself, souvenir to man’s bad taste.