Graveyard full of secrets. Gerard the grave digger was lowered into the muddy ground, wormfull and busy, where he will stay forever with the eternal. And sleeping in the whizzing... Like being given a sack of spuds, you know there’s some fine eating there, after cooking, but until then, it’s just a sack of spuds. “Ice cold, ice cold,” sang the ice man in 15 leaves of indifference. The reporter, without a camera pressed on through the mid day heat, looking for a coffee. Sculpted in easily forgettable verse by the great poet D M himself. And all wrung through a scissors in a frying pan.
Posted on: Fri, 11 Apr 2014 09:07:05 +0000
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