Peter Brown

My voice is the sound of the sea at the falling of the moon, restlessly lapping, boring, then whispering quietly,…

Non-existent, my world does not allow for it. My world has no place for it. I gave up long ago,…

My bones bend under the weight of my food temple, but they carry me forward to the next meal of…

My body is a temple to food in all its glory, food in filthy dirty glory food like the menu…