A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- still life with piss-bottle Deep drag of rough smoke from another clove (Djarum regulars never go down quite as smoothly as Sampoerna Classics...it's like the difference between night and day, 'twixt Newport and Pall Mall) Broken glass glitters in loose dust tracks in all directions, and much like Hell, a thorny bougainvilleia is around the corner loose rocks, bicycle treads, shoe- and paw-prints The empty house on the corner down the street strange golden glow in the circular indentation where the old owners tore out a dead tree plastic jug, catching the light, rising above its decidedly un-poetic origins 2:13 p.m. - 2006-01-23 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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