poet77

Silent dwellars gather for coffee and rain, moths and maggots, no shortage of goddess legs in this moist passage, motioning like spider fingers for my approach, slow copper seductions, traveling thunder, residing in open air groins, streets breath-acting as a resporator for the mass, rolling tourists mock and cackle at dead travelers- then retreat to thier tudor egg homes- safely tucked as warm embriyos. crazy brit with swaying hysterics rolling fuck from his tongue as though it were an extention of himself. I hum a bar of  Halloween Woman Blues, and walk away.