And the clouds came in with a light rain and all day long the city still smelled of smoke and I had a viscious headache.
an old friend sent me a poem:
Swing, huevos
On steel rice nipples
Hills of love dirt, hills of cat
Pad yr antlers with silver
With lunar fat, and all that
While a sabulous cinnamon punk
– The Monk!
Churns his dumb chrysanthemum
“One must imagine Jesus happy” -JBoyreau