“And in the beginning, life, like shattered shells splintering the solitude of a slumbering tounge, it slit, spilt and fertilized nebulous dreams. And just like that and oh so suddenly, with the wind against my teeth I was born. Slapped, belligerent and bear chested Heart raged & reclined against varnished rubber ribs, clinging to the…
Tag: Poets
What Crones Up Crows Drown
And though his bones they have bled into oat, ash & dust, his stories, quite blahsensical, they shall ever never rust. Whilst parliamentary principles perabulated in his head, he laid upon his pillow, solving problematic proverbs in his bed. Swashbuckling tales wrapped in a small trim blue skirt as she holds a ‘drink me’ bottle beginning…
To The BE of Things
You didn’t. I did. We aren’t. * So now sway and tilt and droop, I will not. * No more, Lull, mum, quiet, Little sounds. * I’m going, to the Be of things. * Big, brazen, beautifully bazaar. * No more Twinkled eyes, prancing pain and panicked, pleasing. But barefoot and bold, boomingly, blissful un-bashful- beats! *…
🎨 ART on the Run 