I sit; a nut,
turn in my shell,
eyes in backward.
Dig a wee self;
forage in the glen
of fine, crude cells.
I’m pressed.
Ears in the ocean
seize…
a mutinous song.
Feb 23 2017
I sit; a nut,
turn in my shell,
eyes in backward.
Dig a wee self;
forage in the glen
of fine, crude cells.
I’m pressed.
Ears in the ocean
seize…
a mutinous song.
Feb 23 2017
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i can hear the sea in it. Lovely
Peter! Hello 🙂 Thank you very much. Hopefully it will be a good year for my writing.
Stay in touch!
Oh Vicky, great to see something from you. All the ache in that shell, its bubbling song of mutiny. Splendid!!