a stale man ina beggar’s tree
‘you can call me butter’
a vanishing a randing a rutted
eight itch paintings ina goer’s
hall. Brandishing eight somethings
You can call ME b
itch again you four. Think
itz better without b. Don’t
race dont win on the brink. stutter
Melted persons caught without see
snatching snacking every more
teeth teeth teeth
the wincy what’s-left lost all but
left. ‘Enough now b’
The same but
