Friday, February 19, 2010


hope, trend, pleasure
like a cocoon
there is nothing in here
my mouse, you are not here, falling
tears will find you out
caramel bukkake latte
turn the weed around
my dream to be in showbiz
what lives in the dark corners of earth
rat avatar
i now walk in the shadows between worlds
spiralling rivulets
wassailing shoggoths
tears will find you out
the Great Old Ones will come
now, at my end, i can see fully see
this place looks like hell
through mirror shades
we, doomed and simple species
all meaningless
runic palimpsest remaining
all that i was is now lost
one click away
stone chamber remaining
cerulean tower into the sky fades

" ' was a lady poet who read the cards for me. Name of Johanna Harzbelle. ...she wrote for herself, in a private language she'd devised.' " --Ian Watson, Harlequin (1994)

Crooked Little Vein.

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