Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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Cork pop. Spill. Blood dilute. Like oil in the pooling crimson of a slaughtered deer. Gluttony quakes in rolls of terpitude. Flesh cries for touch, a soul starved. And at night, peril stars careen off track, winking in long streaks as if baiting the lost to keep following. Bliss is somewhere in the endless, but […]

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