27.5.20
146
pitch
a wind at
still runs like glass
an age
and orchestrated
the nothing dark
water under bridge
back to bed it
wait
face from a star
and just as moonless
cupboard and scuttle
never caught
in with the words
pitch is billowing
brews, boils off
a residue of day
makes conch of me
for here your anywhere
will I make a contribution?
play sardines?
who’s there?
no, tickle up to this
see whatever you like in the gloom
are you buying this?
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