I want to take off my shoes, my clothes, my clothes, and run into the cold to feel the overwhelming blankness of winter. O that I were an angel. O that all heard my wordless voice. O that I had no needs or wants. O Israel. Snow dots the car and I see it from two distances. Self-destruction and whatever else.
Grandiloquent. For ever panting and for ever young.
Email:
archrisman@gmail.com
J’aime votre art. C’est votre existence et la fin du mien.
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