Those little birds seem not quite right for birds, these beetles have an odd seductive air. Words keep suggesting other unwanted words. It's not that it's not pretty in the park, not that you feel there's anything afoot, but when you hear the little steamer's toot you hurry to get out before it's dark. Some lemon morning in a wash of rain a brand-new horror comes to call again and write a footnote to expunge the text. Your paintings have been swapped for cheap engravings, all trace of colour has been washed away, it's 3 a.m.
Love is the subject and love's loss the text.
Grief breaks the heart and yet the grief comes next. Copyright Notice - Please respect the fact that this material is copyright. It is made available here without charge for personal use only.