Monthly Archives: August 2018
Piers, the nimbic embodiment of all that there is, right now. New Romanticism in the air. Nocturne. It’s what clouds eat for breakfast. Advertisements
Piers, at play, in the swingland of shadows and thinned veils.
Piers, cloud-crowned, reflectively slotted in her shadowlife. Nocturne on the horizon.
Full cover spread of Nocturne Variations, coming this November.
Veils thin, and purple, to reveal those between worlds– Do not be so sure.
Trudging through fresh dusk, apparitions leave no prints– twilight becomes them.
There are stories, chanced to be heard in silent scars– listen with your eyes.
Papa Hemingway, gone to pot in Mexico– to have and have not.
Where she fell in love, a red-lettered memory of palms holding sun.