Ribbons. She knocks back invitations to see a thousand stamp collections, as if shes knocking back tequila you feel you ought to know her but shes covered in the shadows that seem to follow in her footsteps as she wanders through the half lit streets she knows. and the market men throw streamers as she threads through empty barrows drinking coffee that she borrowed from the blind man in the alley and the morning never enters in her eyes and her name is lit by lanterns on a hundred deafened doorways which shout of streetwalkers and gypsies selling trinkets to collectors, where the day feeds on the lonely and the sad sit in the libraries in the dust filled seats of centuries reading tales set down in history as if its history that lives in ancient books. But her chance is soon upon her and she seizes on the options but theres only stamp collections and the offers of an album in their eyes.
Posted on: Tue, 03 Jun 2014 23:50:01 +0000
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