Thursday, 20 September 2007

prompts, Thursday 07:55

He strode young, into the landscape of old age

Waiting for the call

A miracle, waking every morning

I like pie. She likes pie. Do you like pie?

To Serve Them All My Days

And arriving with the light, there she is

The rickety footbridge

Nearby a girl sits on a tombstone

It might be Thursday

Words, words, words remain

It's not an Armadillo


Love's knotted under her apron now

Opening a tin of beans with a banana

Welcome to the service desk

The Special One

Six bundles, brown and vulnerable

She is able to leave her other self behind

and her hair balled tightly under her cap

Everything closes in

I think of how I lay here as a lad


The evening light falls


After a hammering of light

I am close to my people, the smell of wet wool


The cafe owner, an Italian

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