the small kali
the small kali whispers a little death the orange skin in the morning sows heat the memory of heat & dissolves
this month is not possible as it tires of the motherly yeast, fatherly axe, crumbs of fallen laugh this month is the apogee of a resisting moondance it is weary of the sunstory as fillin for snakehead & wolfshine
the small kali can hear the mancloud tremble the bronze tint in the morning sows hunger the reason for hunger & dissolves