andrew cliburn

dogwood's sempiturnal bloom pink in the sunhigh: bent branch icetea noon rolls off into
when's that coldfront coming through? or

whats yr hurry?

cateye moon gash. when
you gonna burn that push

with austere moment, yr
bisquits is geodesic, like a scallop
gasping for air

autochthonous flotsam
spilling, "you are a man, now fuck me"

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