THERE, BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD, GO I. A prose poem? Poetic prose? You say.
I shall probably rework this at some future date, 'cos it was written in haste. Visiting Hour How cruelly swift the hour flies, in the bar dappled, dingy room! Where are all those conversations, rehearsed in Wal-Mart neon moonlit rooms in restive apartment blocks? Stilled and hushed they are in... Sign in to see full entry.