Cuttings (instead of killed by edits)

Traces of its own / flabbergasted

Reclaim myself promise

The pits I found sink into

What’s the point

How does a person become their own country

Where is the body now

In the instance of the occurrence

This is purslane

Of the perpetual help

Turned the bursting sky with our drum hands

If a week heard

Sun has to keep 

Feel of falling ground 

To be intact .

-

There are yellowing trinkets to go through. night to thin morning. 

chasing being chased:

I make the call hastily, lathered in paper, for passing words to stick.

old stones, old rock, rev and stop off front street.