Ideas above your station,

December 8, 2008 at 6:17 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 10 Comments
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vast slowtumbling caravan
cascades filling the sky
with imminent drama,
pink and grey some
obvious stockman charade,

you don’t need god to be good
son or a piece of shop-bought
tinsel draped on some dying tree

you see the sky boy,
now run inside there
and get your mum,

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