Tekst:
William Ryan Fritch Plumed Desiccated

the skin of garlic. I ve sought any primal rhythm filth-footed on our sonorous corpsed and fetal soil only to founder mutely, where will your colts run

new found sensitivities. but such ennervating kisses of caramel will blister our temples with the constriction of burnt sugar. The ebb and flow of our infant senses will

chewing, but our imbricated teeth arent't meant for ruminating on such cuds. They say he thats born to be hanged will never drown, I will still tie myself

Grapes and glands swollen on antlered necks, even amongst the swelter, the birds have fallen pip. the psaltries sing alone. gut strings and teeth pulled