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dark hothouse · indict me
a door into winter
unkempt kitchen stamped with

occult phases hazy
in mind for moot thunder

𝗧⃛𝗮⃛𝗽⃛𝗶⃛𝗼⃛𝗰⃛𝗮⃛ 🧋🐛.

"Now y’all can see why I never got many nickels on the street corners; it’s because, to the hoyee-poloyee, I’m always thought to be talking Chocktaw. Yep, all is now, for me, up the flue." --@HarrySKeeler

Other angles, other angels.