bichoose (bichoose) wrote,
bichoose
bichoose

Sunday 7th December 2014.

When midnight sighs...from P.M. Dawn...the year escapes me, the fem-transvestite, calls, the spellings sits on the fence the gulls seek far from the crashing waves the whales sing sigh as the moon crests, the waves patter as the rowing boat sinks beneath the word oblivion, the human eye wonders, if one sits in the cabbage patch...Father Christmas sits on a motorbike the revs spin through the concrete sky can i see this concept crying..beneath the leaf mould..the festive season gathers speed once only in the world of the long distance runner solitude is a sin gathered in the whole of ones self...
Am i alone..as this festive season gathers across the five bar gate....today i worked the saddle gathered pace my tiny red van spoke in jitters the golf of space cried so i say the spirit of life  lives in the haunts of P M Dawn..lesson never play music when blogging...or animal farm will bite..So Goeth...
Subscribe

  • Sunday 10th January 2021.

    America...is simply America...as i trundle down the last nine yards of life...Nothing coming from across the pond staggers or shocks me...i simply…

  • Friday 1st January 2021.

    Wow am i glad no longer having to press the the year 2020...any more amongst my scribbles across this screen, nor am i sure if i am going to make any…

  • Tuesday 29th December 2020.

    The first fall of a proper snow line came across parts of Greater Manchester in the early hours of the morning, i pulled up my collar and walked to…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 0 comments