Fall–out chains across the agenda, issues mist the verbal blur, weapons wait tense on lips, lungs filled with poisoned air.
Stab! Oh, so good the first time, such nerves, such achievement, but now, again, again, for what?
arts & ego products RSS © & licence
sequence subject title year
hear
this archive is hosted by arts & ego © 1978–2024 dylan harris some rights reserved