He takes his stroll so far as the landing, an old apprehensively worn wicker stool which won’t hold the weight of his eater’s body
Never could
Something better, something unreliably rearranged – and the women take themselves as far off as the men who stand
Desirably reliable and attired to the bone…
He made it impressive so that it might mark itself incredible – the envy-laden ladies argument with the madmen and their wish to buy their own minds back
A host of the thronged and problematic cluster – the battered – bettered – disposition that proceeds the unanimous crawl back to art again
From some way…
Shut closed eye-sockets, irreparable and dotingly dosed expectations infest, invest yet hardly ever infect this merry soul, only the heat of the sumptuous sun which he paints…
When a thousand thoughts batter their way back in – some of them thankless, others none too much appearing at all interested. Dis-interested. This is Turner’s next…
Just how beautiful it could cause him to yet become – this pockly canvas and all of its sworn-in…
New York City, sweet Briar-Rose Red Avenue. And a meandering minute sweeps past midnight.
Steeped in unofficial sadness – a rather resolute person who owns the…
She has been left jaded and thirsty for more – both of these singular things flourishing together, where were they when she needed to be connected by…
You did though, you stole the whole of my unspeakable intelligence – I am not trying to be above myself yet that is your entire job
Satisfaction quarantined
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This is the tailspin tale of a loved-up boy, one girl, who once decided for themselves that to leave school early one day and to go with themselves to…
What was and what probably should have absolutely been, if only – mysteriously mixed up in holy ghosts of tomorrow’s favourite faded nearly dream. Never happened, not…
A festival of fucked-up ineptitude and it just will not stop with its bare-faced lies
Any more than a one-year-old child fails to tie their brand…
The roll is unholy, had to have been – just the manner in which these manky-handed things work their way out and back to the…
Pale September & jagged November, they’ve been using the soles of their confusing faces again, yet she is still the egomaniac that they do adore, walk on…
Were we really caught in a wind trap – were we really meaning for it to be so very sincerely disconcerting?
Recall it all, a time,…
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