[jumpsuits . . .]

jumpsuits, they have changed paintings, I behind the concertina wire can't look at it anymore, that wall across which shadows play Sorry to be vague at such an hour. Were you When I called, I heard my voice anywhere near waking in the background Strange, reversible lines, I thought he was dead. He is better of it, pushing the glass away. How many songs can it hold, that thing I've seen in windows, has it changed singing, or hooded figures I didn't know it had a camera, some features are The blue of links, obscure beneath the face, the green We still don't have a word for Simulated drowning in embedded streams a perfect world