Wednesday, 7 March 2018
idiot bliss
accept this caress
this cold clammy compress
something in the trellis in the quivering privet
pouring out the lemonade she realised that she was not alone
and further more
utopia's round the corner they used to say
get used to the future, you ain't got no choice mate
the trees are your future, the treeze, the breeze.
suck at the rim of your cups, puzzle the hanging washing on the line
climb those pock marked ravage foothills of your wilderness years once more
as the bus lurches up the Holloway Road in a wind swept rhapsody whatever
sudden freeze make way
ample rooms make way
make way
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