A genius at work or a talentless chancer? You decide.

Anti social animals





Baby



Alan



Sydney Harbour



No authenticity



Going up in a smoke



Little Mr Lonely



The Mumps

The mountains are crying blood, trickle on treetops, biblical floods.
The blood will wash the bodies away, into the sea, far far away.
We are not welcome, we cannot speak, electrified fingers useless and weak.
Orange skies, force fed lies, whispers in corners and hollow eyes.