12 January 2016

fromfourlanes

cold intensity

the air in feathers of fire

laid against my cheek


Here’s a short and partial response to the fourth of Don Paterson’s 40 Sonnets, ‘The Eye’:
beneath sensation

something pools that can’t be drained,

or plumbed, or even named

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Author: andreacconnolly

I am on the bark to NEVEREND

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