[PSC] Elvia

[preston tiffie]

there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
X. The British Attack on the Arctic
to try that, to hold a terrifying beast
Out of the road into a way across
Event, the end of the painted road ends up
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
He is harsh, dismal, ice—that is, exiled;
At San Biagio, in the most intense room
Summer bees were saying
What? What can you do?
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
Like some poor wounded wretch—long left for dead
Not so much of place as of renewed hope,
Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
Dim, and die tonight?
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,

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