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We pour mist into lost fields cross the stars
We find painted idols, canvas marked like playing cards
We dream, a sign of leaving, taking hours
W..
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This is a true story. Another Seventies story.
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Spring begins in April.
We praise the new science of Smell
The smell of the sea, of rot and disintegration,
Of paper, of books,
Of buds bursting..
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Letters and changing,
Drinks and music,
Clouds and sunshine snow landscapes.
Bottles of wine, the smell of coffee, blue woodsmoke.
Wet and I am ..
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Ireland 1968
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A moon rises.
I am in my bedroom, my old bedroom back at the old house, dark.
I suppose it is getting late.
The times my Mother would shout &ndas..
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My Childhood Falcon
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Everything was coloured electronically. Lights everywhere, on the stereo, on the television. The alarm sensor on the ceiling winked its big brother ..
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61
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