Tags: poetry, stocks, writing, writing for fun
just because you believe time is not linear does not mean I didn’t used to write this piece as a slightly drunken father on a starry night round a fire, a blur of his tattoo, an English flag long forgot on his forearm round his son saying,
there is still the past, both recent and distant, line them up. Look up boy, you’re always looking at your feet you should be looking for friend or foe, the pass, the defender, the ball rolls by itself. He was alive when they won the cup, ’66, so I was three.
He was a submariner at sixteen and Welsh coalmining stock. Stocks which someone had spent some time building.
Tags: crazy 60's effects, tagging
The hole is more than the sum of its planets.
Tags: that's not poetry squires, writing
Those heart starters are wild. Anyway, I found peace in immunity to deliberate provocation. A moment’s thought untyped. Without font as it were. I saw many go mad, quite literally and others fight till they were carried off somewhere. Returning only to be photographed on a balcony overlooking the sea, a wide hat, sunglasses, her collar turned up against the breeze and turning to me, there’s plenty of space between impro and discipline it seems, and smiling.