This winter is a snare. This winter is a farcical knot. This winter sees a threat in a wise guy. The next one will be Galician. The bugs of next winter are already staring, and if the curls get spoiled, then Ropret will be out of his meals. It’s a danger. Honey is a joint over Jacob. He limps. Professional soldiers get attacked by vermin regardless of how many crumbs. To asphyxion. To asphyxiation. Even she cheated her, Anne-Marie Albiach. What is a pure source and how does it smell. What did the flag say when the head looked through it. Selim unrolls a carpet for us to see. A mink. You walk on black diamonds that attach onto sleeves, that attach onto cuff links. Fog is the hands of trees. It bends down and opens the water. The thick hoarfrost hurts. A train dunks it when it goes beneath the water. An ibis extends its legs into a bonfire. Do the kernels between the rings, in the places where flesh is, flutter, hide, set up a tent above them? I am conducted into an arch.
