Saturday, June 06, 2009

Before we continue, may I just say

The street is empty, I smell smoke

I often wondered about other mothers

It's a small, pretty place, near Milford Haven

Probably isn't definitely

The hand that rocked the cradle has kicked the bucket

Slum Dog Millionaire

Perhaps I should return to my apartment

How Plaster Dries

Something in the night sky, lights

Red Sea Peril

We went kite dragging, not flying

Another storm is battering at the windows, the wind keens

Clothes lines flapping with white, the sound of children

She was, in the end, more or less unharmed


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