Phrases found on the fringes - mined like so much precious metal. Souvenirs from the unknown, barely stable, yet somehow bound by words incapable of containing them. Humble reflections of the sweet mystery...
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Chant
3 by 3 by 3 it is done, bury your dead, bring me a gun, hand me your teeth, full of decay, spread out a sheet for us to play.
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