( via / via )

This Fastidious Erasure.

"i know something about size"

pinkgold fled jetscrape
conjures discalced ganja
gazing of void velvets
veritable sirens
entailed lamentations
white line's sere wheedle
nowhere-milled stillness
pinkgold fled jetscrape
jumble in my inkpot

"One after another..."

"For every artist whose estate becomes a foundation, there are hundreds whose work disperses, deteriorates, gets stored in conditions that damage it, gets given away to people who don’t know what they have, gets sold cheaply and without coordination in the months after death when no one is thinking clearly, gets argued over by family members who disagree about its value, or simply sits in a house in Wiltshire, doing nothing, slowly." —@blackbirdrook via

Borzoi Puppies.