arena and territory

the next interpretation, with some coaxing, nearly tattle tales into poem. hmmm.

Garh. Squeals and i ended up forgotten it seems
seams like to fit in to
this, the well is the blight
at the bottom of my eyes

so who wanted a weakness,
a look at the thunder never made

wanted a goat girl stupid girl i am a goat girl

in

around your offtrack notions of the breast he invented:
notebook: teeth. Those
la femme fatale. Those songs are: the carpet
has its soot
and over
your sleeve.