Naked, abrupt in her nature and whipsmart nocturnal

She sits and whispers and asks of his Guggenheim technique – of its whereabouts its permitted wherewithal


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‘Playfully Magnificent’

The trespassing heat of constant hardship abounds, twelve round ulterior bouts of creative make-believe

All of the pain pours miraculously away within and then the bread…

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‘Note To Self’

Whenever you are attempting to create something sizeably different, that is when you will need to let all of your preordained thoughts — the imprisoning thoughts that have been…

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‘Cuckoos In The Nest’

Not an artist, not anything like it, as though ruffled up and ready was her go-to, albeit utterly transfixed with something, just not so sure what anymore…

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‘The Brightness Of Bullets’

Ingenious, exhausting, a poisonous kiss, like the stinging twist of an interfering nettle leaf – the argumentative lady’s been bleeding from within and it is all wrapped…

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‘Bleeding To Read It’

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…

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‘Spreading The Love’

A host of the thronged and problematic cluster – the battered – bettered – disposition that proceeds the unanimous crawl back to art again

From some way…

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‘The Decades They Decay With Him’

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…

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‘A Minute Past Midnight’

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…

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“Leave Her Alone”

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…

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