Freak Show Saga by Patricia Walsh
Being quiet on delicate matters, love permitting white flowers cascade on the windowsill the designated day off calls the blink missed this artisan audience knows better than that watered and fed under cover of critical mass. Fearing ruin over breakfast, newspapers as well, coffee sunk slowly, more lukewarm the better, sharpening appetite on a watery diet purchasing freedom on back of a blood test loving, like a rock, caring little for decorum. Called by the wrong name, invited to a table apologised to, the dark veins of a friend, cracking down on entitlement, this allowing producing books only the select will read that is enough, as is said, for another day. Being looked after is all that truly matters, seethed though Facebook, awaiting the train, inexistent crises rummaging in losing handbags conserving food in face of disastrous teeth looking pregnant, unproductive, in an age’s heart. Typing up bygones, the better for wear, again startled out of time, being the more mature accepting oneself as per se, free travel abound as much on the one page, constraints being destroying all knowledge of previous incarnations.
City Brink 81
