Wednesday 8 March 2017, Tottenham Court Road

Memorise, solidify

longing skin.

Tear means ripped trust: breach. 


Long ago it was written up in the dailies – for the poet it’s not all over!  City of strange moods.

“Drink, little one.”  Struggles to digest tablets.

The burden on the states: she’s almost Hibernian, lately needing to depend on having little money for the cost of cigarettes.  Nobody will deny this vague individual something to eat before breakfast.  She’s in the right!

Annie’s wrong to be so silly; ridicule can get one in tears, possibly.  Takes a little drink to be carried back in the same direction, mistakenly sent home.

Bossy, heartless, wild fellows: “drink, little one.” 

Takes a little drink.

 

 

 

 

 

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