That the body of work is eating shitting etc, is auto-something. That is
made in the image.
That is, understood like a raincoat on on on.
I work on my body of work between these times.
It is a match. The mountain is a house with errands inside
I work not hard but in and out rendering things in
bright and furtive leather. I say gnats and tooling.
Working is on me in white and green ridiculous clothing. In these shit shoes.
Package delivered. The beavers are back. The bushes
thank me anonymously, silently, in the form of rectangles.
w/ my wearables.
A coach of brown/black.
Glasstop sidewise. A fucking hankie.
My dress add pumped.