shepard fairey



ras

ras

ras


ras

ras

ras

ras

gustav dore

our boys

death and burial

wm

Monday, March 10, 2008

Small Potatoes


little rhymes. I was in the market, I was there.
When the sheets of flame encompassed our delicacies,
we hid. It was too much. Later, we turned from the bier
to more for’ard-looking pursuits. It’s a blur again, a whirl, I’m in
a spin, locked-on, in the seat of
being it is.


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