A Parent's Lament Part 2: Loss, ft. Welles and Elson's corpse
Sequel to A Parent's Lament

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A Parent's Lament Part 2: Loss, ft. Welles and Elson's corpse
Sequel to A Parent's Lament
Elson - Epic Seven
JOHN LOBB
#byrequest #ELSON #DIETROLEQUINTE
From Eden 🍎
Elzule and Jason are my own, both are he/him!
This is just me getting to know my OC characters again. So, I've been working on their body structures, and I was wondering what would a different combination of ice monsters? And what a female Elson looks like. Into account. So yes, this is mostly practice. Also, Hugo Glove. This a lot of Hugo love.
Clover is the one wearing the green shirt, and she's from Zone 2. Griffin is the one who's in purple, and she's from Zone 1.Two are very different characters.But they bounce off each other.Quite swimmingly.
Linda Nyvtlova avec un bracelet Cartier (1999-2000) et Karen Elson en robe Versace (1997-98) par Jean-Baptiste Mondino à l'exposition “Vogue Paris (1920-2020)” du Palais Galliera, octobre 2021.
antidotes to fear of death
Sometimes as an antidote To fear of death, I eat the stars.
Those nights, lying on my back, I suck them from the quenching dark Til they are all, all inside me, Pepper hot and sharp.
Sometimes, instead, I stir myself Into a universe still young, Still warm as blood:
No outer space, just space, The light of all the not yet stars Drifting like a bright mist, And all of us, and everything Already there But unconstrained by form.
And sometime it’s enough To lie down here on earth Beside our long ancestral bones:
To walk across the cobble fields Of our discarded skulls, Each like a treasure, like a chrysalis, Thinking: whatever left these husks Flew off on bright wings.
Rebecca Elson
FUTURA VECCHIA, NEW YEAR’S EVE
by Rebecca Elson
Returning, like the Earth To the same point in space, We go softly to the comfort of destruction,
And consume in flames A school of fish, A pair of hens, A mountain poplar with its moss.
A shiver of sparks sweeps round The dark shoulder of the Earth, Frisson of recognition, Preparation for another voyage,
And our own gentle bubbles Float curious and mute Towards the black lake Boiling with light, Towards the sharp night Whistling with sound.