September 19


So often on the brink of trying to be like someone else
(“Anything not smooth is valuable.” – Barthelme, “Paraguay”)
Press Green to hide screen . . .

September 18


He said he would never be seen in public eating celery –
Flames appeared, the words on fire

September 17


Reading the muted news
It’s all rather sad
The squire sits alone

September 16


I had a hammer in my bag, because the poets who were going to be reading were builders,
or used to be, and I wanted one of them to sign my hammer.

September 15


(at least, I think so)

September 14


The plough’s broken
We’re walking around in six inches of water
But we’re happy, ain’t we?

September 13


The shops here are very quaint and aromatic
Arranged especially for visitors from beyond the mountains
And filled with toys that will pass the time

September 12


One moment you’re clutching a basket of flowers
Then you’re on the floor saying Hello to the little worlds

September 11


It’s like when something lives too far away
And nobody’s home. And what is home anyway?

September 10


Even if there were a hand available to take
I’m not sure I could take it now. Always turning away.