Just a dusting of icing sugar, mud cake fields transformed
into WI masterpieces for the afternoon tea-set. Freeze your
head in the wind blowing panpipe discords around the house.
Feel it bite your knuckles, sniffing for entry through the
backs of your knees – skinny jeans. Favourite table in a
back street cafe, high stool, porridge & tea. Black, no milk,
the opposite of my mood, watching the pen cut loose on the
paper, feeling good.