Into the dying lightShe walks, ever forward,Careful to avoid the spindrift inkOf the approaching night.
Little Black Girl, you have lost your way. Society does not see you, It has…
I remember our bargaining as childrenthe coaxingㅤㅤthe whispers of childish daresand…
I thought I had seen a GoddessAll covered in glass fibre and copperHer feet strongly…
Jim Morrison would throw a massive party at the cemetery in ParisWhere his mortal remains were buried one bleak summer day in 1971He was the man who came back through the doorTo attend his own wake and to read moreFrom Joyce’s work-in-progress Finnegan’s WakeAnybody who has passed…