13, H, grate
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there
is only a
dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.
Above
and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise
this is going to be awful.
this will be about a slug
