Peter Richards

Tonight I can firmly grip the cross and deliver it to snow. Driven while the negro was fasting, the cross serves as ballast for snow. Ropes sag between snows, sag according to tensions the various masks exert. Strung through the mouth holes, eyelets, and nostrils of the masks, in wind masks have this way of exchanging their glances, surveying their gazes, and from afar rise with the look of abacus rings sequestered here to keep the answers blank.