shepard fairey



ras

ras

ras


ras

ras

ras

ras

gustav dore

our boys

death and burial

wm

Saturday, March 8, 2008

The Sound Makes Its Way


into me, and I got a few times left in me. I’ve got a few
yet to live. Ordinary one, you own a secret, you
don’t even know. You know nothing of what you think
you see. A diaphanous blocking of shots, marks we’ll hit,
in time. In plenty of time for the party. In time.
In time.


No comments: