rasp for air

Perdo’s Pox (redux)

Night falls—

A black feather,
A white hair,
A brittle bone,
A rasp for air—

The moon unmoored.

What I’m Reading:

“The wind worries the woods outside. This morning Night was drowned on cold gray waves.”

— Werner Herzog / Of Walking In Ice

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About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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