o fig, fist of flowers, o ostiole entered
as a wasp might enter it, pollinate it knows
not
...
[+]
It was the splatter of liquid on my face that woke me. Shitty-quality beer, with a taste of loam. Awareness returned as it puddled beneath me, where the tree roots grew against my back. Feet on the ... [+]
I've always been curious
about the identities of old statues.
The minds
behind the cool
...
[+]