Night Blood (Some adjustments midst life and death)

“I’m an object. An object dirty with blood. That creates other objects…”

– Clarice Lispector, Augua Viva

Bill Hayward (Gallery 1)It is the best of times, it is the worst of times…

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It is the time of fulfillment, frenzy, dragon smoke and sex,

Bill Hayward (Essays 4)

Of love, Asphalt and astonishment

Bill Hayward (Review 2)

A cinema of mud and Bone

Bill Hayward (Essays 2)

It is the time of Night Blood…

Bill Hayward (Essays 3)

In the great elastic performance chambers of arterial Muscle, the

Bill Hayward (Review 1)

restless heart gathers blood unto itself,

Bill Hayward (Review 4)

a nocturnal nourishment sticky with stories,

Bill Hayward (Review 3)

desire and truth, creation and death,

Bill Hayward (Column 1)

a tangle of labored roots

Bill Hayward (Column 3)

There are invisibles, objects, shades and shadows, snakes and heights, a

Bill Hayward (Column 4)

fumble of bodies. Random reports of gasoline angels, rust, fear and elusive

Bill Hayward (Column 2)

paint, demons, electric scatter and temporary soot. Vaginal salts and brackish

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memory, sperm and sand. Blue dread, water, forests and – beauty,

Bill Hayward (Gallery 4)

…………….. always out of reach.

Bill Hayward (Gallery 3)

It is a time Only in Bed

Bill Hayward (Gallery 2)

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