the swollen black tongue
the hardboard covering the hole of the ripped-out meter on the wall behind my bed-head:
to think how easy it would be to bring yourself down in oblivion a pile of broken bricks and dust. Gary Alle
n Sabrina
Around this headland lies the Severn Sea, your boatman sailed as master. You, his dark haired mistress, he skulls across Roath Basin: Square rigged barques anchor at Cogan Pill staithes, colliers’ steam to Bute lock gates.
He rows you to the peninsular where you were born a dozen years before. Your mother descended to the heart of the Tiger, the hub of King Coal’s world.
Brar on en d Jh 6
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