Occult Integrity

Without boundary we limp in sync to parables of rice, readiness, the right kind of plastic Concealed in the frame are justices tables molded by hand and the racks of the oven remain scalding for profit far past the carcass's coda sitting near you angry the night tadpoles singing in the mood you perforated to give the tear the appearance of 'I meant to' cobalt, lithium, copper prying the fight to the elements this idea of romance without consent is flush baby your wounds are just like mine ...