Absorbed

Evening issues an amber skein. It trails a flock in departure. In tumblers, it reflects as liquid. From the road into one’s ear, whorls the skein. When Friday dusk descends, often you will hear sirens. — “Lots of sirens. People have been drinking,” noted a friend of mine one balmy summer’s afternoon in sleepy North

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