Poetry Blog by Laura Taylor
The i-museum's empty now.
Orphans walk the hallways.
Curtains that were always drawn
are opened onto photos ripped and wrinkled
and exhausted of their rage.
Hatred hits the bricks, takes a breath,
then tries to dig itself a grave,
knowing that it's naked and unnecessary now,
but the ground isn't ready yet to take it.
Stunned air murmurs songs of fr...
Monday 15th January 2018 12:42 pm
Sod wearing purple,
I’m gonna fake dementia.
Sup single malt in Tesco aisles
and Jose Cuervo Gold.
Steal Thornton’s biggest fuck-off box
of truffles, milk and dark.
Then stuff my face with Krispy Kremes,
leave fingermarks on magazines.
I’ll ride the roads in off-peak times,
rob Asdas far and wide.
A North West quest to shoplift shite
Friday 12th January 2018 10:14 am