way. Ghosts go without. No one thinks to spell your name.
4 Postcards Per Month; Sometimes 4 Blog Posts Per Day
Archives for category: David Starch
the final say. We compose riff raff on speculation. Her toe has wings.
with massive resistance. That shot put a dent in their parallax. We pollute your chemistry.
his bat files. A shaman garbles irony. Her chalice ruins over.
for your supper. If balky, choose cherries. She answers her own.
tools. We demean her bemoaning. They impart your froth.
with grease. The underbelly sags. I conclude into the night.
pry if I want to. That’s my party.
result in handcuffs. The focus reverts to soccer. She shambles in time.
