"Art was once the common possession of the whole people..today..art is only enjoyed...by comparatively few persons...the rich and the parasites that minister to them." Skylar Hamilton Burris

The cold wind whispers warning to you, as she guides you out your door, when her dark hair wraps around you, you wont be frightened anymore. Then she lifts your soul up,

I slide up along beside you and my arm around your waist, say, hun let's take a shortcut let's quit this damn rat race. One great step, out into space the colour of your laughter

The sun touched me with a whisper of alestacks and hay, That bid me come dance in the dragonflies' wood Where the dawn finds a foundling each midsummer's day.

A daring young rodeo rider Once chanced on a Hadron Collider She went in on a horse And lasted the course But popped out with a pig-bison astride her.

The Other “Tell me about her,” I ask pretending to be more amused than hurt. “She is so much like me,” he sighs, a slight laugh escapes his lips

and song about how it wont be the same again, but half of it will!

Thoughts after an extended session with The Pregnant Widow.