said wounds

...most of Us...

...empty spun-sugar shibboleth...

"Colors," he says to the screen's black lattice

you gravitate

"Something understands," breathes the screen

i say 'me' guided by a blind instinct

...and try to become the Light?

i wanted to fly from the roof and i fell

we are digested and become nothing here

we also shape-shift at a distance

...small dull smears of meditative panic

...the string grids of excavators searching for weathered bone

dead on the surplus blankets

Vocturnal

Obscure Sorrows

Raineater

Eclipservent

One faces

Rubatosis

Keta

Mal de Coucou

TASK

what the machine understands about you doesn't actually mean anything to it

colors