Prose Poetry

Artwork by Author

It’s night time, and they’re nosy, or was it hyper-loud, at the table right in front of you, banter it travels, travels and tickles the nose.
Who told them, or was it taught them, how to be so bold, how to kiss the spirit of the age, right on its hairy lips, then slide the magic bill, right where the money goes?
Were they the same ghosts, who rented a tapas plate and sat it there out in the desert, charging the ants to…



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Fox Kerry

Fox Kerry

If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.