crossfire with springsteen and flourishes of bergamot and stomach rot

[pullscraps]

I am not after this says the dispossessed self, and wants to keep the unnerving glacier behind a sheet of skull or sternum or something equally thin.  The healing moon jaws on and on; You have not been diligent in your studies, and have lost the cadence of her tones; What could be words to slack your soul on a hook are now the screams of extras in a cheap foreign B movie.  Come on back.  Right now.

The city is dancing a sweet gnash around you.  Your dreams are tired of you, and seance you up, up, time to wake up.