POSTCARD FROM NEW YORKSHIRE ... ELEVEN

In the land of the Everything Burger
It takes time to fry your fish
Tiny battles in a transatlantical relationship
...
Ok Pie it is

BIRD, BOOZE, CONFUSED DOG AND HORSESHOE CRAB AT FIRELAND

NALA, NALA!

VINTAGE, ORGANIC PHOTOGRAPHIC IMAGE

GILDED PALACES OF SINS

That's the point of the Empire State

You can't see

NEW YORKSHIRE PIE SHOPPE

HAVE YOU EVER HAD THAT HAPPEN?

Sat in a public place
To read abookishly
I was unliterally waylaid
By familiarity on every page
Cousins between the lines
Siblings under them
Daughters to be that whisper
Like leaves

Should these words offer something
New and warless
Not a bomb
A somewhole peace
Within this deafening rememberance
Maybe

FARTS

The meek shall inherit shit left by an earlier shift
Like the napalm wind of Vietnam cancer

Do with that world what your ever loving wills you to

Marching on in maybedays