"The more we elaborate our means of communication, the less we communicate". — J.B. Priestly Squatting in thick skinned caves, paged westward we became, nothing more
( Something for my husband today. He is missed ) She sat silent, pressing palms together,while her head sky dives into psalms being said, by a girl in a movie, (talkie, talkie)
Scolding Apollo - When she was a little girl, a Trojan Horse was held in her hand, carving stiff hidden intentions. That female anger became just another constipated state of affairs,
Fling off bistered slings wrapped upon God. Hidden in enshrined shine of dandelion is a symmetry of butter-yellow plumage worn upon joy's bird-face, labile to a breeze,