The Schism

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Ten at night

The pie is dead

Remember The Grapes

Sickly sweat clings

Cold cascades

What is he barking at?

The moon is out

Down The Grapes

With the stars, some hasbeens

And four screaming wannabes

Called The Vermeers

I couldn’t make it:

Artistic differences, you know

Matters of principle

Moral scruples

Skint