“I am wanting to turn out to be lover”

 

Buries self in back bedroom internal universe never to return it’s ok we like it here they say. But the Wi-Fi is shady. Serious work with solid intent. Melancholy drug abuse heavy lidded swansong just about fifty years to get comfortable still staring out the back window watching it all go by.

Conflicts light up the windscreen; four geese skim to a halt then take off again immediately. The municipal pond bubbles with winter scum one eyelid flicks open then disappears; trees are giving up their last leaves. Come to know deserted creep streets around the closed-up bars. Crumbs sulk rat-like on the dark deserted city table.  

Every act of terminal resistance, along tenuous fault lines on the brink of collapse. Seeking solace in mundane beauty is often ineffectual just the same. Bubbles keep rising; they are not commensurate with the idea of successful living. Images in the rear-view, squalls of gull farms like waste modules that pepper our spirit with granulated symphonies splayed out over the scorched remains.

Hairy colossus of mossy cosmos forms. If I collapse to bring forward new space then the order is strip.

Order unguents furnish agents in glitter robes & golden things. Eat up flutes standing to read over simmer in sleepy resignation. If it is functional post punk funk. Bring into overwrought colour swatches repeat prints hidden heron pools. 

Deliciously arboreal state; what combinations of words remain untapped? Noctilucent corona above the reservoir courses down to dry pooling reserve. Within this source of inertia stock will fall. Glowering memory of esteemed pre-set graticule force machine. It is the of impulse listless leaning bowered enface towards a crazy chief. Uprising to wound the demonic blast wave compounding an internal revenue rebate pending. Volte face situation recharged via USB port blown out sub heading leaf less. Quarantined books may remain in the little lending library until vaccinated. Elsewhere the wretched of the earth roam with dogs in tow. Home baked star fish surprise all full up of love giving songs censorious roaring fall after too much whisky talk.

The Barnet job rumbles on; it’s all eight-hour days that rain down like liquid cement. Tented outside the infected Zone we assist with reading, progress of any kind is regarded as progress.