{ 03 } .. . virago

she reads the leaves and she leads the life

Come with me, and be my love,/And we will some new pleasures prove
. .. . { john donne, the bait }

Well, we tread lightly on some phantom shells, waving our arms molasses slow. As if we were swayed by some idle wind, while fishers fish and emperors bow. The flames do not subside at all with ease, fueled by the trash strewn to and fro. And what burns shall burn, as young children learn, with liars’ pants and idiots’ glow.

Now that’s a nice fire to warm an arson’s arse. Let’s throw another martyr on the pyre, another Joan on the throne. And throw more dirt on this shallow grave.


spiral scratch
the sad burlesque .. . { elvis costello and the brodsky quartet, the juliet letters }
hungover again .. . { supersuckers, must’ve been high }
a certain romance .. . { arctic monkeys, whatever people say i am, that’s what i’m not }