in a blue-green haze mahogany horses dip and run on buckle-legs and white-beige blossom drift-blows sideways on the polite-cough breeze but this morning is not a morning - its a romantics watercolour in vaseline soft-focus healthy and impossible - innocence from denial brushes after a night of laminated-gloss Bosch
clint eastwood johhny cash the bible say Hell will follow a pale horse the horses in this town - this concrete estuary blip of sold-off dirty farmland nail bars and shut cafes are dark stain colour like a dead mouse and all that follows them is their own flyswish tail of cobwebs and bumnuggets or puffa coat gypsy's in a bouncing wooden buggy