I tell of the lost hours playing games – in the fun of distant worlds, and words framed from disappointment, another hour ticks by. My disease is tamed, in a circle, two remote hands edge, semaphore to the knowing, ever closer, nearer now then far apart… …is it an...
We’ve got snow, it’s so exciting. We’ve got snow and it looks inviting. Pull on your socks, and pull on your wellies; we’re going outside to slide on our bellies!
I’ve been going through some poems, tidying parts up, preparing them for the ritual of submission. It occurs to me that a lot of them are about death. That’s not because I’m overly worried about it; on the contrary, death seems to me the catalyst for...
I waste the lost hoursplaying games—in the funof distant worlds, and words framedfrom disappointment, another hour ticks by. My disease is framed, in a circle.Two remote hands edge, a semaphoreto the knowing, ever closer,now nearer now far apart. My daughter cannot...
