Thomas Judes Kaplan

Many premature embraces
to odd random places
Some half sexy, half scary details such as braces.
Smarty pants are just underwear, kid, it doesn't make you the ace of pentacles
As you said yourself, inspiration comes from rare roses
So look up now. Tell me everything you know about those clouds
A frail boat burning to ashes
All green and red and grey
I can't help but pray that you will grant me a goodbye kiss. I wonder if I earned it though.
That would be bliss
Time to catch your bus now
Time for me to let you go

Thomas Judes Kaplan

I woke up this morning and the fun fair was over. i knew you wanted to go there. All I could save was that funny-looking balloon. I know that's not much, you can't even burst it to mimic those helium-affected alien voices. Can you feel the electricity though? Soon you'll be extatic. Life's a rollercoaster. Don't worry I'll be your clown. There's sugar left in the cupboard while I paint my face red. For you I'll make the chicken run and lipsynch and lapdance. The show, how cheap might it be, must go on.

Thomas Judes Kaplan

Adrian wired on phenobarbitals tried to get sucked into the bathtub hole.
Rushed to the cheapest hospital in Bath. He wished he had once taken the Tube. He had no time either to bring his survival kit. Fire! Fire! was he screaming, out of his mind. He couldn't tell what was real, what was dream.
Brain damaged sleepwalker subject to seizures and epileptic fits.
Born bachelor, he never had the chance to even get a foxxie. he kept his mom's ashes under his pillow and spoke to her in a pre-Norman Bates kind of way.
Porn collector, he had more than the average Joe. Dabbling into esoterism, he tried many times to cast a love spell on his neighbours. He would send them invitations on a bristol to fancy barbecues in his nettle field, once called a garden. No one ever responded.
An old man in a five-bedroom house. He would sleep in a new bed each night just to feel that life was colorful but nobody was there to wish him sweet dreams. He was the omega male obsessed by female genitals and now lies on an hospital bed, a nurse tucking him in.

Thomas Judes Kaplan

Femme foetale enlacée au papier peint jauni.
Ses cheveux peignés d'épices, poignées d'épars filins, rouillent au soleil et pestilent, lourds sous le poids des senteurs, la bière ambrée qu'étamines et corolles à son abord exsudent.
Bientôt, elle sonnera l'alerte.
Puissent-ils ne pas ternir la couronne d'amaryllis ceignant ses rêves d'enfants qu'elle distille et dont elle a confié la garde au postillon de repos avant de s'abandonner à lui.

Thomas Judes Kaplan