To the Artist's Page To our home page
To John Bryan's previous piece To John Bryan's next piece
field of Mars sleeping on the cold dark ground where all the numbers are. start calculating in my dreams this meeting place. stars as far away as it is to be human; where do they end and the will - o - wisps begin? the night spiders I invent and multiply come forward across the crashing variance of sedimentary rock ( - skin? ). I open my mouth in case I awake and find myself gasping my breath having it snatched from me by the envious / speaking of which of things not designed to be finished...