kobold k.

Dank floor boards, having absorbed Christ and the Beast, lead us up to rank pineapple plateaus and rain-weathered copper peaks where The Answer mulls and ponders over whatever and however you like.

This batch: metal; grinding; artillery; woman at home waiting; hard discharge; agony; ever, ever. The bitterness, the rock dust, the thwarted sweet: the pine and pain! Glory!!!

Unbuckled tart fibre belt curses lightheartedly before walloping me with its terse curse. To make matters worse is the burlap soaked apology and promise of a trip to the candy drawer.

Kobold's lunar-length Lent to cleanse his simple soul for welcoming First Hops is complete! And it tastes of "the after howl of brass-fire immolated berry branches creaking post-wondrous under a heavy Ideal of vicious, unruly, and joyfully widowed Green!"

A week later and my more-little self evolves: this is stomping, forgiving, evolving, growing. Drink with glands, cells, neurons all open to change.