The World Pours
The world pours.
Swallows changed but nothing is pale
in the mammoth sand upon a clock swallow.
It will flat in its whiplash hand corners
and then to me; or else.
The dust earth of the root on its hill
has cringe longer stickiness.
wounded the ocean.
The bones in the vice of the steel of inspection.
The owl roosting, collapsed a pig.
Convenience is her blue-dark glow.
Carp-like sophistry is going to hole
like squabbles of oxen inaction
tearing perfect crannies.
from the body: flings a jig.
Bare-blown perfect tide-rip.
With the swallow screech
the sobbing depth
slakes scissors at the top.
The key feather:
Cut-up generated by The Text Mixing Desk by the Lazarus Corporation.
Cut-up output (before curation)
pours swallow changed but the
no is pale in the the mammoth sand upon the a clock swallow is no it will flat in its
and she whiplash hand corners. and then to me; or else the dust earth’s
of the a root on its hill
has cringe longer stickiness wounded the