Asemic Postcard 188 – the traveller in an antique future
A sign, a name, a garden, a city by the sea, quiet music, your crown, the only, pistachio pilgrim, soap stone souls, begotten Song of Heaven, knives of ice, mortal beings fly like birds. I want to call robins and bats, and go to the station. If someone brings red water, they leave it alone, eat the pig, and use it like mushrooms.
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