a raw descent, billowing fast & spun 'til the time we'll force the soil to swallow ourselves: too far gone, & no backwards to safety. only spirals of wasted water down dirty, half-clogged drains, razed by fates written for us in cold ash by the bones of ancient smokestacks.
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November 4, 2023
3m
0.0
Stephen Ground
N/A
0
Oddity Farm
N/A
