tetrahedral edifices of a sticky rice realm
this is where the dissidents come to rest, here the holy temple / that lets them all have what’s coming to them, for better or for worse—but i am not dead…
nakajiru
you forget how your father’s finger looks like always hidden behind the sanshin chimi, black pick that engulfs the nail to the first joint, curved and hard uncannily like gnarly claws of an oversized raven you remember after his fifth song and fourth mug of beer his...
