Poem after the end of the world
Now it’s too late: no waiting game, no walking home no digging for a wild epiphany in routine clay The long, long count has fallen silent and my dreams have closed down Sullen sheep refuse to jump: my mail is…
Now it’s too late: no waiting game, no walking home no digging for a wild epiphany in routine clay The long, long count has fallen silent and my dreams have closed down Sullen sheep refuse to jump: my mail is…