Obituary Published on March 21,
There is lambswool under my naked feet The wool is soft and warm gives off some kind of heat A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid The fleas hippy girl porn to the golden fleece Hoping they'll find peace Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid There's no hiding in my memory There's no room to void The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than before They're moving.
Best time of my life, no comparison.
I guess with Rex I was just looking at the wrong species.
This past week pulling out spiritual parallels feels like picking lint off a sweater.
Comments 81 Share what you think.
Flore Marie Ella Pigeon.
Furnished room Vanier.