Replace those lyrics airing themselves into this open, inebriated air where the conversation flows like a pour from a rotten tap, foamy and stuttering with pause. Fleetwood Mac serenade. The banal drive of pop palp, why not just call it “Sex on a Stove” and have Stevie serenade Lindsay, have Christine McVie lament John. Their […]
Read MoreGet my science My inglorious monolith Gleaming like a wet spire Left to inspire The quiver, shake, shudder Of breathless ecstasy And a soul back-broken, Half-intent and bent Wondering why this wasn’t home And the cordial moan Was a sip when a draft beckoned Begged and swore The cuss of yearning An unblessed prayer Where […]
Read More#irispad #day1 #sept1 #tiny #bubbles #lacing #beer #head #foam #yum (at Barley Pub)
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