The Hunt Is On.
Stenches of blood in water,
& air.
Artist.
Poet.
Chasing skeletons.
Only rivals I’ve got.
Empty hollow sockets –
Brains, selves, long decayed.
Pursuing the ghosts that flee,
From the drumming of my Infinite Creation.
Digging up their bones;
To gloat over coffee.
My Skeleton Tea Party.
My Skeleton Tea Party.
