Dear Time's Waste
About Dear Time's Waste from Auckland
The page is often corrupt and mud-stained, and torn and stuck together
with faded leaves, with scraps of verbena or geranium. To read this poem
one must have myriad eyes, like one of those lamps that turn on slabs
of racing water at midnight in the Atlantic, when perhaps only a spray
of seaweed pricks the surface, or suddenly the waves gape and up
shoulders a monster.
contact deartimeswaste@gmail.com
Loved these guys at St Kevins Aracde well done guys look forward to seeing you again soon :-)
come and play in melbourne!... please?
http://www.undertheradar.co.nz/utr/interviewMore/CID/72/N/Dear-Time%27s-Waste.utr