Black Butter

  • Posted on 3rd March 2016,
  • written by
Black Butter

Morpheus hovers in the black bog sky. Everything has been crisped by otherworldly lightning. Starry buffalo churn the black-butter clouds. Morpheus’ sooty will works itself outward from spindly fingertips. The door vibrates. Disembodied faces bathe their words in tar. The saddle we put on our day comes off like a loose swimsuit in this bizarre Dalinian night.