The great and the good.

© Robert Bissell Moonlighters

Bath bombs and sound blasts

No hope, no entry,  sentry rhythms seep, the flow gives way- chaos in deep trenches and burst seams.

Sound blast residual

Spring till summer

© MB

C word

True talk ( An ode to ghosts past)
I remember a place…
..Cosy, heart-beating love-vibe that spilled up the walls in a warm-song embrace. Where hearts folded against each other, bearing lives up over the heavy tread of work-slog , winter nights, In get-along, nice-to-meet-you, mutual respect. Those were the days of warm walls and clean floors, dishes stacked then stored and shared around a kitchen table of light embrace; long nights of telling tales of ...intersecting visions in a meeting minds place; So now we’re losing Alice, I’m sad for this - little lights of candles of people that blew against the cold to hug things up to warm, way before the crumbs spilled and things cracked amongst the plates that now mount up in confounding piles of spilled omens and behind the scenes cracks. You see disrespect walks in, trailing her blizzards behind her, chilling through the corridors, ruffling shoulders and furrowing brows, with deft icy fingers, that have far reaching long arms; sifting and separating- harsh words into huddled concerns, whispering, whispering, whispering: what when wrong?. I Remember a time when it was a joy to do better and things went in bins , that then went out the door. ANI

Hayv Kahraman.