at night they play music to the plants strung from the curved wooden sky, strange metallic shapes, like badly drawn megaphones in dolphin grey. in the early light
the 71 Haight-Noriega brings a simple truth home today, there is singing on the bus. it seems like an imagination, but it is very real. and beautiful in its innocence.
memory bisque the hot glow of metal, running loose beyond the window, brings back holidays: a kaleidoscopic L.A. freeway, glinting sun gold and teeth white. mine to visit,
what would Biggins do? when I find myself in times of trouble… it isn’t actually Mother Mary that comes to me, for in the horns of a dilemma, or brought up sharp at a crossroads,