“listen,” Mutt says, “listen.” her eyes glisten, and don’t find focus. it’s the stundra–it makes her watery, loosens the logicollective locus. what’s connective in her hunkered headbound herding doesn’t weave a well-formed wording–the greys are losing sangfroid. the largest one slaps her;…
cursory rhymes, eroticoncision, turbulentime, defiant decisions.