Poetry Blog by Laura Taylor

i-museum revisited


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...

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On Not Wearing Purple


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

funded ...

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