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Latest artworks It's windy. I'll take my umbrella instead. Apr 28, 2008, 08:20:20
Mood:  neutralListening To: Pigs flying over a boiling sea. 
A cigarette is lit and placed between frostbitten lips. 'Ah.'There's a cottage on an edge of shore, any shore. The distant field meets a barren landscape; a moon plummets to the ground. "CAGE THE FUCKER!" 65 days less than yesterday. (My brain becomes static.) There's a time when writers, by the drags of their cigarettes find peace. A moment embroidered to escapism; too gentle for a bubble. A moment you swear you're Peter Pan crossing swords with aphids; a small square of Earth rumbles under an Amtrack. I saw Johnny as it dragged him form the wheels, Hook buried by moonlight. (Sirens kick the air into my ears.) I suppose I'll swallow this moment like smoky M&M's from OZ. (It's windy. I'll take my umbrella instead.) Here's to parched lips, too wet with the riches of bread and wine. Here's to skipped Sundays, too rich with religion. Satan stole my M&M's. The Bastard. Where'd God put the moon again? No clue either, really. Read More Last awarded star
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I write, I take pictures, I play music. That is all. Adieu.
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