Pore Tune

Talls up our helmeted stingers. Marches through the torn up zero farm, casing. Dew boss: ants in tow. A cup of paintings, atonal moves, a row of mounts, the ordnance for delousing colours, the noosing glass. Two bosses by the forgone blank. It is now or. Ear turnovers shall ever maroon us. With our stash […]