Degas’s Business Card

The truth-teller draws from a pocket the laminated slide of mm 85 x 55. You read – it turns pellucid. Through the foramen you see the blade that cuts a lover’s sup and dulled lime drunk alone in place of absinthe’s sleight of bliss. Here life ferments and the contact details for the artist sit

the currency of sugar

in glasses: wine, cocktails, liqueur, on plates as cake and biscuits from two discarded plastic tubs, a litre of ice-cream Lonely is the currency of sugar. — I’ve eaten two squares of Lindt, 70% cocoa, as I prepare this post. My head’s throbbing lightly with the sugar rush. Depeche Mode is my soundtrack, Can you