Poetry Blogs (old entomology cut here)
Nicola Beckett on What of Us (2 hours ago)
A coat of petty words, so finely groomed and worn,
against the thick november fog, walking the road torn
tentatively by forgotten anniversaries and tartar sauce.
My god, Bourbon, you're a fine-toothed, shark-toothed comb
circling down the drain, a yellow submersible
of pureblood grain
Burning in an engine with two gears; vanilla and plain. Reheated pain,
Cacaphonous ringing in my head, you're a mocking, ...
Tuesday 16th December 2014 4:14 pm