Wipe the instant free of the silt and granules of clay milling, torn wilds are on the way and come: the showdown slide has it all on the line in motion into the hopper.
Crimp-rimmed crates in flotillas fence to fence, steps from top to top on the canvass and the mesh of corded hinges.
At the rounded turning of the tall bland adobe wall, an unseen figure carries a seen infant at the infant’s wish and design, who is dressed in colourless powder and wears a dark tweed beret.
There in sequence stands the impaled among the feathers, the spreading shape, and the tool weighted by its battery, looking sharply out of the shadows at the edge of this place.
On the left side we can see, through the mesh and the back of the seat, the hunting ground of so many feet this way and fewer that: our eyes warm it.
#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/09/04