Synapse: Michael Mission Harris «
Because the rocks in my stomach are throwing themselves
apparently a different intepretation of acid eyes... don't really remember this one, but I like it...
Because the rocks in my stomach
are throwing
themselves,
dirt
flecks on screens rolling
pins on acid eyes
depending on paperback
atmospheres
No, manila left
in a box far west
persistent, a crook
in hives, hypotension,
fields
ultramarine static
No, more than the wounds are
free from stars in eyes
cut by icicles, the dirt
seated deep
discomforts
in the humors;
the skin
they're in corpses
yes, stultified animals
