augury doggerel

Wednesday, June 05, 2002


A flying spy ship of antennae came in through our balcony door. The burst of navigator at its helm found itself nowhere, in a place of impossible white surfaces that could not be flown through, and so flew into the sun. The merciful false gods of the place cupped the craft in terrifying hands and released it back into the night of life, the life of night.


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