Curtains astir in the burnt-out house.
Light in the west, light in the east.
I am setting fire to the school gates.
It isn't the wind which moves the playground swings, by night.
The nightmare, again. No safe harbor.
A loaded quiet, before the spark.
The haze and mist of rain over an abandoned London.
Car crash on camera. Glass, metal, pixels.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
one-line poetry.
Taking a cue from Ian McBryde - one of my favourite contemporary poets. (Melbournians do it better!)
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