Where Does Toochi Find the Time?

Toochi cups his hands, blows into the flesh cavern, desirous to fill the crevices in-between fingers, to clarify plagiarizing words from gestures. Touch of porcelain is vanilla fanfare, touch of purple and John the Baptist’s head sings of the coming rapture, touch of a parking sign and the neighborhood children question the motive to eatContinue reading “Where Does Toochi Find the Time?”