Blog Posts


The scenes are filtered
through webs of concrete ashes
like machines on fire

Its possible to remain silent
not to obey
and find a merry field

Catharsis I get from champagne
blood in my veins grown cold
like brown featureless faces

Such wicked tiny entity
playing men out against men
so as to honour our glimpse of the next

Find me chasing rabbits
cruel heights
unusual perceptive images

Such is the world
in these senseless hours
and pretty indeed she is painted