Cold Brimstone Searing
snow the promise of more snow revised to include more snow. Snow white is death.
do you recognize the spirits that are magnetized to your earthly existence?
Do you recognize the spirits that are magnetizing to your earthen existence?
voices inside the wind--voices inside the wind? Must these days? days of trouble ain't all the same? expectorant amnesia?
go cut down that tree old man and get on the stump and talk your bullshit.
all thE bullshits
I am tired of dementia. some kind of dementia---oh the mystery. ainn't it bigger out there.
preamble violin blues sawing sadly serene providing entertainment for the sunday spring afternoon picnic upon Little Loudon Cemetery.
wrapped dark over duty---that weather bird arranged pinesap coagulation--war was and is breathin upon its own
a grandeur strong and queasy in a sill===he beat his fists upon the sheet metal until something almost occurs besides that rust smell drafting thru fade purple evening
man hoots upon a green hill
cold heat of the brimstone searing---and the heat heaving heavy with melancholy lacking wit---the lackey of suicide urge-- SUcculent.
the body --his tombstone and the whole GOd forsaken island sinking slowly sliding sea wave----who is speaking? who is speaking here? You cannot find the salvage of dialogue here swaying methodically as a metronome do so.
and one day all the birds--every single bird had fur instead of feathers.
let us have children so they shall be wounded
*the beginnings of a longer prose work