A mystic moon shines lovely; The Poet drank the creek Agatha slept in; '06
In a buzzing of crazy lightning splintered dreams of pipe smoke curiousness and whiskey scented lovin' wheels turning like abandon windmills out on some dusky-hillside- bit-of-lonely, with only his goddamn thoughts, the end of some moon blessed empire, a fading Florentine Knight on his cloudy white... Sign in to see full entry.