Wednesday, July 11, 2007


Flowers falling lightly, the broken swimwear of tremeloes. The echoes run through her long dark hair like breadcrumbs from a bishop’s banquet.
The betrayal of symphonies and the aching of cliffs of amber and only. Subjected once again to the all encompassing roar. A fire rises unbidden and unties the shoelaces of the twin boys who laugh and run away through the fields.
They say who dances must pay and lightening strikes but is always selective. Such power is not be wasted.

(extract from an Automatic Writing)


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