sentence: ten years solitary :
sins against literature Cell No.Fifty-Eight: ‘Come hither your time is up!’
Kiss emits a missing hiss,
crumble of balsa
deckchair crackling on dry tea-leaves, the sickly click of elbow
on homespun sugar and the tut-tut-tut of tongue come unstuck on dry gob roof. Jackdaws! a spat on a chimbley stack silence.
deep breath. Ruby Murray urges go-go-go…woodpigeon bills arrive on time: wait for urgent reminders
picks up pin & writes:
Reblogged this on Grimbeau.