wooden raze the frame is seething with wasps and moths hungry for this headless torso hung between jeans and short-sleeved shirts that haven't fit since you were one sun-stung apple in the pith of an orchard's wild eye. you carry it down the stairs and heave it across_the_street. food now for all the insects and threadbare saints with filthy faces to fight for. 250830 what's it to you? who go blather from