She called but no-one came no-one answered to her name He was a Pariah, from another tribe They met in secret behind closed door And they made Bethany, their first child. The desert winds took from them their home and upon a Camel, they were forever cursed the arid lands to roam.
(Are we a nation of Procrastinators?) Rotten fruit, the last kiss Water trough aged and brown Fresh dung, disconnected wifi A move to home, at last. Disappointment, tasting sour Love beads around my neck dissolving into my skin; no trace, new microchip, blue. New model car yellow Lamborghini Stripes A Red pelt aroundContinue reading “Procrasti-nation”