This brain-line crosses insomnia with an artistic impulse, and auto-molds a mainframe of my mind. I’m lured to rest. Burning alarm-clocks cook for me here, as their melting buttons starve for meaning.…
This brain-line crosses insomnia with an artistic impulse, and auto-molds a mainframe of my mind. I’m lured to rest. Burning alarm-clocks cook for me here, as their melting buttons starve for meaning.
