Ideas and nonsense form some kind of equation that I just don't seem to get.... or maybe I do but concepts only twirl around like a classical ballet. A ballet of mould choreographed inside my tinned peach of a brain.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Sunday, May 29

Fluorescent cascades of lights... visceral in glow,

Protruding, orange lips connect wiry, sheers of flesh... taught and glistening,

Party plastics whine outward... running dribble of brine and lard,

The walls ache, like a congested artery... the bacon leaks misogyny,

No comments:

Post a Comment