All men are wolves, We sniff, piss and fuck But the moon, to each of us, wears different faces And different times. You, my moon, Above me, in the coldest reaches, How you rolled a cigarette, the marked fingers caressing magic From the mundane The way you drank beer from the bottle, Made my mouth … Continue reading You, My Moon.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnCVYO9Aw20&ab_channel=xlMrProdigylx The songs were fantastic, alongside some funny, poignant monologues. This one however, was exquisite. Burnham is a recent discovery, and inspiring as much as he is brilliant.
“I like revisiting, at certain times, spots where I was once happy; I like to shape the present in the image of the irretrievable past.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights
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Joe stood at the corner of the train station, chatting to a stranger over a cigarette when Keeley arrived. She smiled at the ease with which he carried himself in making the most of his time. When he spoke about his previous marriage, he told her how it used to irritate his wife and the … Continue reading The Smile of Autumn Ghosts
I would feast you in my great hall bathe in hot springs make love to you underneath the old tree Like the kings of old under the ancient gods rest against my chest and hear the roar of glory which echoes with each beat of my heart