( via / me )

You’re not the most oxygenated trout in the river. (thread)

wine of vie lance wailing
Mirrabooka worked nearer
déjà voodoo vision
& evade sleep sheepishly
tie on my wrist test case
tangled in zugzwang portents
still to enact stark terms
unsticks the fall's berg gallstone
further blown by blithe clicks
no bleach this stain sained this time
& the soft clutched clutter
cleansed with knowledge earned altarwise

Tired of words.

"In Averoigne the lamia sings
To lyres restored from tombs antique,
And lets her coiling tresses fall
Before a necromantic glass.
She sees her vein-drawn lovers pass,
Faintly they cry to her, and all
The bale they find, the bliss they seek,
Is echoed in the tarnished strings
That tell archaic things."

—@klarkasht.bsky.social

Calfclose Bay.