untitled scrawl: again, possibly summer to fall '96

The only children are over-wrought crap that stews in the intestines too long. The fumes first promise then stink.

untitled scrawl: possibly summer to fall '96

The day is filled
with expectant chores
that rouse the
live corpse in me.
ooh, morbid.
But then,
the only blood from a stone is vomit.