Friday, 23 November 2012

before photography

how many are indecipherable

 supernatural products for enigmatic childhoods

in every daydream the doorbell is about to ring when

the town turned about on its nostalgia

never existing is the essence of sending a postcard to the doorbell

kicking a football under a silvery sun

they go in and out of the building

somewhere in grief

backs of the houses the railway

then small streets bread and milk

heavy old overcoat deep pockets

kicking a silvery sun

is literally a giant shadowed moth

is there a name for anonymity 

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