Tara Denny
Bachelor of Fine Arts (Sculpture)
One walked around such pointless paths.
Picking the white flowers from my tobacco garden.
The last of the golden trumpets well, they had dropped to the ground in between the blue stone cracks.
Pointless paths.
Surley it had some point, a lesson to be told.
Between my Dakota. My friend.
A path in my past.
Unable to read time in any way. Watching the hand pass over the flower bed.
walk on. Ignite the fire.
Go on tapping a fraction too loudly.
Heel tapping
She whispers.
trapped in cobwebs.
In a veil of cobwebs.
trapped in cobwebs.