Culpable art,

(drowns in...)

...your long forgotten, plump-cushioned news as you sit on my couch,
burdening the morning air of my free-thinking. You ask for more tea and
honour me with blood and dread -not jam and bread- bother me with the
celebrity of fallen sons in noble white-flowered pastures, far-off and
digging at my caked tears. Then in a closing gesture you rattle my
cup.

We toast new wounds with spoken words that stride in legion from our
minds of sore habit that have seen better days in distant
fountains...

(d...)