the prose she hones (analogue collage 06/11/20 10x10") The prose she hones all winter is wreathed in magic, sex and wonder. Come spring, will she, I ponder, still pen me essays of her darkest hour.
The prose she hones.
the blues at ten
i've smoked all the wine and drank all the baccy. and it's got to mean something, but it's ten thirty eight, still early. i may just stay up 'til dawn. (Could've worked better, somehow, with 'dusk'. But that would've been crazy!)
Sorta Alan Bennett Blues (shit haiku)
What happened to the apostrophe in Hallowe'en? I've looked everywhere. Nada. No note, nothing.
nickreeves 