Listening in

If war is the truth then ‘anthem to a doomed youth’ is the new religion. Poetry becomes a fact and not a fiction, put your teeth in grandad it’s not all bad, you still get a pension and your friends all got a plot of land to lay in which became the new holiday home…

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Expecting a caller

Like a cat that’s been out on the tiles the morning light with a squint full of smiles comes strutting across the bedroom floor, reaching the door it climbs up the walls and falls lightly like rain on my pillow, it’s Monday again and I need a shave. Saving the best ’til the last now…

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