yeoldefinch



“As fallen landscapes from an evening sky These paths are stopt – the rude philistine’s thrall Is laid upon them and destroyed them all Each little tyrant with his little sign Shows where man claims earth glows no more divine But paths to freedom and to childhood dear A board sticks up to notice ‘no…



Sharply scratching, gently penetrating, the page. A blue-led daubed era. Beginning, or Not. Catch it, scratch it, dessicated like Liz’s dog dream. Rim-worn sunglasses, falling cities in her eyes. An urban trope, suburban hope. Wailing away, inside. A crying baby, a gaunt wink – within my eye, outside my eye. There is a lot to be…