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I was at a loose end

Coiled up for action

Capable of anything

Any hot infraction


You fanned my flame

Got me into a fever

Never let me sit still

Pulling every lever


Combustion failed us

From sad mouldering

We barely rose above

A gentle smouldering


We tried to rekindle

Gave the fire a poke

Rubbed twigs together

Lit not coal but coke



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smoulderingmoulderingfeverflamecombustionashesjoan of arc

On The Border

After a pause due to computer woes, I return to the airwaves with this offering. Its predominant theme appears to be the fear of change which, for me at least, is pervasive.


On The Border

The sky's dissolved in enveloping greys,

close as blankets, cold like hotel sheets;

looking over your shoulder as dawn raises day -

you test the gloaming's disdain for lamp-lit streets.



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