i am the wind, edward posset
you do not know me wind; i am not your syllabub
i am the dry lane of your lame life, deal ivory con mot
i am edward posset, wind, state your case or go
i am the moving thresher, weird and eaten head-edward, guardian
i cannot recall you, and furthermore, if an eye at the end of a stalk were to view you, what would it view? shadows themselves course in my veins.
you are vain, built no-thing, the nothingness pervasive is my heavy name
and by that same token, rather rigidly intent thing, what difference is there i ask between us?
sand hag! literarily derivative arihagne-wind-voice thing!
you are no better than i!
won't you do art?
well i should
if i would i guess