15 April 2012
I met a man called David. The wind paved way to his fen, Spasmodic form, supported by mortar, little spine. "I don't want any money" he admitted, "Just some hands" he requested, "steady ones" he pleaded.
I talked with a man called David, He's travelled all levels of this sphere, Forever serving something, always serving someone.
I unearthed a man called David. A multiplying malignancy took his mother, A multiplying corruption took his brother, Spouting sludge, billowing smoke. Trembling form, supported by memories, little spine.
"I don't have long left".
Tar Pit (David) • Opuss № I