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My Time

written in Tippex on a broken house tile stamped out on a blank sheet of snow drawn by a finger on some foggy window scribbled in the back of an exercise book whispered in the darkness of a flickering cinema turned into a song by Ed Sheeran printed on T shirts, birthday cards, pencil casesContinue reading “My Time”


Down the dusty, data-blown back streetsof my computer’s hard drive liesthe dumping ground –                                 the placewhere failed poems go to die,and fragments too, which make me feelembarrassed or ashamed –lines leading nowhere, overgrownwith lush, excessive, choking adjectives;a rusting heap ofContinue reading “Junkyard”

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