The shed
is a fallen drunk
unable to right himself
staring at the sky
The high-seat
an old woman
on thin legs
caught by the sun
Birds everywhere
on their way to
or back from
wherever it is birds go
Among the wreckage
dog violet
stitchwort
cowslip
Poetry, writing, life
The shed
is a fallen drunk
unable to right himself
staring at the sky
The high-seat
an old woman
on thin legs
caught by the sun
Birds everywhere
on their way to
or back from
wherever it is birds go
Among the wreckage
dog violet
stitchwort
cowslip
Poet, writer, artist. Writing and performing in England, publishing anywhere. Member of Hexameter performing poets. Workshops, projects, cross-arts collaborations. View more posts