Sunday 13th November



You don’t know it, no, honest, you don’t. A corner off the map
with a slice of sweet. A bowl of something bitter for balance,
where voices tell stories, documenting time, evolving legends,
holding the line. Fire in the hand, back to the West side,
Prodigal Son-rise.

The phones don’t work here, don’t loose your hair-shirt. Talking,
putting everything right, mouth-to-mouth, mouth-to-ear, here & now,
mouth-&-trousers, runs like clockwork bananas. It’s cheaper down the


5 thoughts on “Sunday 13th November

  1. Sometimes i exhale how you see and hear and feel every time you want.I can’t see or hear anything from another or you.So i don’t know it,honest,i not.That all although i’m nnot a blind dove.
    And if you want asking me how does it feel,or does it feel as love or like friendship or like anything what earns the word good-what do you think i had to say therefore?

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