JB

Smoke vortices, life is a canvas that art pours in this, twisting my brainiac fantasy cortices.

Whirled up in different cons, Malkovich, lynching on round coins for forceful kicks.

Slasher flicks, samurai slashing, Bruce Lee fire fist, mics do seppuku when I vomit spit.

A little litter from my excess ingress, take a step back for your finest interest.

I consider myself a novelist, with apostrophes, writing for the reader, I tell in confidence.

Launched it straight off the bookshelves, infinite wisdom then I wish them well.