How Glorious! And Discoid!


Eaten by baboons! And so young! How magical was incandescent April with its scolding baobabs and batter-fried cherubs chanting madrigals in the high voltage grids! I took your hand. I gave it back! The pot-au-feu smacked of belt-feed oil, the sunset brown as a fungal pit. Life is pain, love is agony, but forever we will have our half-buried trowels, our dried scabs, our wallpaper. Come outdoors with me, sad statue. See high up into the universe, there is nothing there that cares about great deals on second-tier scarf fashions. Live or die, it don’t matter anymore.

Author: mattamati

Nothing remarkable to report. Born in suburbs. Diffidently educated. Used to do other jobs, now he does this one. Fancies self a writer.

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