i marveled at the colours flashing across his forehead and dark eyes. Little swirls, half formed alphabets, like some strange art form, hanging in together. things too old to fit into new words : rage , desire, laughter…
so many million Poets among carefree corpses
.. … gettn easier to understand whats gettn worse
… women, their men, and other women . Mud flingn face slapping exchange
… no longer a dark street with a million mechanised intrusions….
” U cant be normal and work here…” the sign read ; it was a leather and paint affair …