Counter Strike Designs

Cut into matchsticks, in other words, dissatisfied with anticipation even in summary, he gets on the telephone and says all his words for me are figments of radio over surfaces of vogue pray, rain or hail in collision with hard commercial car stereo on or garland on a banister: texture, texture, structure

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We who are not proximate, still not discrete, stop distance from counting as lend it the highest number, venge between now and then, telegram stomach, happy to receive it, happiest that the line perceives itself round, like a leg or a town or neighbors

Or abdicate my shape and become an environment, a reich, a limit, my upbringing cut into matchsticks and drench and feels like forever but I saw you one yesterday before and you inventoried my gazes as detachment, raid, and gists of themselves cut into settings, clinging to firebread

Of course us is becoming a field, in other words restive, harvested, in less, smallmodernfamily, and modernity becoming our fled-by-bicycle course, two helmets side by side on slight hooks
sideways bright against the night vehicle night brook night kiln cypress, my father ever feeling whole and sublimated blueprint of away in which, I made it and, yes I made it