With wine and being lost, with less and less of both: I rode through the snow, do you read me I rode God far--I rode God near, he sang, it was our last ride over the hurdled humans. They cowered when they heard us overhead, they wrote, they lied our ...
Don't sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live.
rush of pine scent (once upon a time), the unlicensed conviction there ought to be another way of saying this.
Each arrow you shoot off carries its own target into the decidedly secret tangle
