ONION GRASS
the wind
is a shout
an order
that moves trees
a base communique
from banished babel
i stand
in the
dead apples
and
onion grass
earthed
on the lawn
ANOTHER POSTCARD FROM BRITAIN
sos sos sos
nationalist pathogen
deliberately released
and tho sunlight
has got to the
smoke and mirrors
it
doesnt
seem
to
matter
SAYS NOTHING TO ME
outside the window
the day throws
the air about
its a half-arsed tantrum
inconsistent
irritating me
the uniform grey sky
says nothing to me
nothing
like listening
to late period radiohead
under cold water
from thefatangelsings.com
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