Sitting in my hallowed ground, I find the compulsive obsessive
Perfection of Man. An endless deliberation /
Crystallisation of existence. As always, suffering a sea change,
into new shapes.
This was the Dream: Freely floating,
how long after death does the brain remain conscious?
Like the lining of starling feathers, holographic and golden
A flock / constellation of shooting stars
with desire to reach the infinite.
Natasha combines her fascination of all that is ethereal/otherworldly/folkloric with a deep interest in
/Tash was ere/