sariliche closing of dominant castellan room service

bedding in Paris, like the warm mule of scattered concepts
denoting an equivalent where price tags are too high
food screaming in the pot like a clocked-in railway station
“Events are running scared,” She said to me, somberly
“What else can I dream to?” I replied like a rattle snake
do not talk back to God and do not drink the juice, knowing
God probably killed an angel…What if they find us here?