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July | 2009 | burslem is bohemia
https://burslemisbohemia.wordpress.com/2009/07
All humans are the same. Anything but fucking poetry. Monthly Archives: July 2009. July 15, 2009. Stutter briefly over glass. Beaded waters waning west. July 14, 2009. This house, if i return,. Will i still recall journeys. North in the fading light,. Waning spires and blanket towns. And the vast silken river,. Shimmering back at us,. The prairie-wide road,. The stud-lettered cinema,. And the humming tarmac,. Boiled-hamburger pink –. And the distant corner,. Around which lies Christmas. And bay window,.
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provost 88 | burslem is bohemia
https://burslemisbohemia.wordpress.com/2010/12/13/provost-88-poem
All humans are the same. Anything but fucking poetry. December 13, 2010. As if through some forgotten fault. A rugged asbestos spire purports. Unappointedly above its urban parapet:. This is the inauspicious bishopric. That deconsecrated your wing. And disarmed your prayer. Internally, your landing gear regressed. And your wing-tips dimmed as gently. As the sundown of a pilot’s eye:. Dreaming elevators being lately unexercised. With inevitable time the creeping ivy awakens. Look – the provost 88. Enter y...
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October | 2009 | burslem is bohemia
https://burslemisbohemia.wordpress.com/2009/10
All humans are the same. Anything but fucking poetry. Monthly Archives: October 2009. October 23, 2009. Train windows would appear to offer. A double-glazed derive for the goal-getter. Or time-limited, terminal, declining commuter. But no. because instead,. Bygoing england will embalm you like linen. And you’ll never pause to check your make-up. Until one day, somebody arrives to dig you up. Then, remarking upon your preservative sheen. They’ll leave little marks on the safety glass pane. October 18, 2009.
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December | 2009 | burslem is bohemia
https://burslemisbohemia.wordpress.com/2009/12
All humans are the same. Anything but fucking poetry. Monthly Archives: December 2009. December 21, 2009. And its shooting gallery. With its blistered tiles. Snow-flecks on his eyelashes. And the roll-up poaching. Milkily in his skimmed complexion. Blog at WordPress.com. Blog at WordPress.com.
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December | 2010 | burslem is bohemia
https://burslemisbohemia.wordpress.com/2010/12
All humans are the same. Anything but fucking poetry. Monthly Archives: December 2010. December 13, 2010. As if through some forgotten fault. A rugged asbestos spire purports. Unappointedly above its urban parapet:. This is the inauspicious bishopric. That deconsecrated your wing. And disarmed your prayer. Internally, your landing gear regressed. And your wing-tips dimmed as gently. As the sundown of a pilot’s eye:. Dreaming elevators being lately unexercised. With inevitable time the creeping ivy awakens.
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November | 2009 | burslem is bohemia
https://burslemisbohemia.wordpress.com/2009/11
All humans are the same. Anything but fucking poetry. Monthly Archives: November 2009. In the bleak mid-table. November 21, 2009. Shovel back the gloom:. The sometime sodden shroud. Dusks the winter skyline. A huddle of stands. Shirk the prying Skerne:. Quakers versus Stags,. In the bleak mid-table. Gabbiadini glides and gleams. As an uninhibited stream. Cuts across a misty moorland and. The ball simply follows. November 16, 2009. In raucous turn of flight. Their squealing ancestors daub.
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January | 2010 | burslem is bohemia
https://burslemisbohemia.wordpress.com/2010/01
All humans are the same. Anything but fucking poetry. Monthly Archives: January 2010. January 27, 2010. Upon your dead face. And we evacuate the city. January 4, 2010. 8211; like a prose poem. January 4, 2010. Also applies to money-grabbing bastards the world over. Rendered in frames per annum. Whose moment of impact. Corpus at the moment of damage. January 4, 2010. 8216;s intents and purposes. And how easily the “i”. Can be picked from. A card index,. As a creature,. Ripped, wrung, overdrawn.
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burslemisbohemia | burslem is bohemia
https://burslemisbohemia.wordpress.com/author/burslemisbohemia
All humans are the same. Anything but fucking poetry. December 13, 2010. As if through some forgotten fault. A rugged asbestos spire purports. Unappointedly above its urban parapet:. This is the inauspicious bishopric. That deconsecrated your wing. And disarmed your prayer. Internally, your landing gear regressed. And your wing-tips dimmed as gently. As the sundown of a pilot’s eye:. Dreaming elevators being lately unexercised. With inevitable time the creeping ivy awakens. Look – the provost 88. Create ...
flowersofsulfur.blogspot.com
Flowers of Sulfur: Moon Bath
http://flowersofsulfur.blogspot.com/2011/01/moon-bath.html
Thursday, January 13, 2011. Posted by Charles Farrell Collage. Hieromancer dances and strange plants wave though the night is windless, their petals obscene mouths in the umbrage and underbrush. Kenneth Anger, like some dark, thin-limbed Elmer Fudd, chases around the holy circle with a camera, while Rabbit pounces. Neat photo, and the labels bring it to terrifying ceramic life. Thankx for it -. January 13, 2011 at 8:33 AM. January 15, 2011 at 6:40 AM. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). When She was Young.