The maw picks, and the thistle strikes
dawn is a cracked keg in the ringing of a grey living room
swaying canvas of roses and pig drawings
wire stem hedges and floating concrete shards
a deep armchair and a flask friend from a friend
furies in the bathtub and the tender rings explored
that had always been holding visions captive.
dawn is a cracked keg in the ringing of a grey living room
swaying canvas of roses and pig drawings
wire stem hedges and floating concrete shards
a deep armchair and a flask friend from a friend
furies in the bathtub and the tender rings explored
that had always been holding visions captive.
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