Britt d'Argaville

Bachelor of Fine Arts (Sculpture)

Something profound and yet frivolous. Like running next to the grave site.
Brown eyeshadow gathers underneath my eye.
Watching distressed birds flutter their wings with struggle.
The window stains, filters through and exists within.

Um, yeah.
Shake it,
shake it,
shake it, shake it—baby.

I put on bug-eyed glasses with yellow lens,
and the long grassy lea does not seem so dull anymore.
Dew on the mead pulses and sparkles to the rate of a higher being.

Bit awkward to write this way. Bit like red lipstick.
Some can pull it off, but mostly it is overkill and gets stuck on your teeth.

The brume is ravenous and becomes a fury of flames.
Eventually it settles and I dance in the rubble of what existed before, and before, and even before.