Monday, 22 March 2010

A Problem with Silence

She refuses to have mains at St John,
And I pick cake crumbs
My fingers smudged with ash,

She refuses a sweet white
As torture snips at my heels,
Armies of plastic soldiers
Sink in the Boise

Spiders tie my laces together

It’s a blackout
An unused bomb
Her purple coat

And studded jeans
Suspended me

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