ice dust

by grimbeau

Above is a good example of rushed verse, some kind of mad blue surge cacophony, direct mappable point-to-point expressionism,

the spot where the technicolour yawn erupts, splutters and congeals into gypsum, or maybe papier machete

Something is in the air. If there wasn’t we would be really stuck. SWOT analysis reveals three dead flies in the blackcurrant preserve, lying low for the duration

Feeling the new is insanity without the confines proscribed by the rag and bone men, take my word for it (you may as well it’s free at the point of need)

Who started the air pump without cleaning the vents? What a terrible mess. The callousness of some people never ceases to outrage