10kdays

syzygies surrender as we castaway a billion years’ worth of disembodied echoes and potential hydrogen delivers all its providence to protozoan                    shadows of the moon rogue hyperbole to help deter derelict miracles in progress entombed by dermatomes, flesh-toned human puzzle boxes … but what doesn’t kill us makes us stranger makes us better bunk mates for the next version of that slow decline down friction’s hill, against our will a shambolic serpentine