Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Prompts September 01:02

I taste salt


You see the little things, the quietly beautiful that I miss

Death may or may not be permanent

I am bleeding slightly; from various places

The simple things, like you reaching for me

We will hurry home

It is not here that your mother meets your father

The wind rises; you laugh

We will kiss the earth


The buzz of a needle, the tatooist's hand

Once this was sea. Sea-birds still nest here, dark with disappointment.

An old woman who smells a little

Oyster-Catcher, night road

Duke of Earl

Various ice-creams, more than one kind of cheese


The flowers echoing the dead church-bells

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