Buttershaw

By ralph
Sun, 16 Mar 2025
- 51 reads
Buttershaw
Upon our hilltops – the horizon
preludes a taut silkscreen over a city groan.
Fairweather intentions morning made
suffocate trashed long streets. Underneath
Saturday’s old, boxed chicken bones
splinter whilst new burner phones bleat deals.
Sometimes, we cannot breathe before dawn.
The descents of a world spinning us late.
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