Tiny sleepy creature under my shoe
stick to it and travel with me
while I walk to the ruin of the cathedral.
Tiny slimy sleepy creature eat a hole
eat part of my sock
it is your blanket.
Gangreen at home
an old radio transmits world war news
the surgeon refuses to die.
The magazine is soaked
An ink tattoo on the wet t-shirt
Carry the headlines on your ribs
Collage – voices – announcements – damaged tape – street poetry – England – Dai Coelacanth
This is what he says:
“Live recordings from the field. We went to the park it was covered in a thin skin of gold I thought our noses would fall off Jesus-people tried to sell us a photocopier. Very reliable. Good value. One million printouts. No gravy lines. We are not rats. Rats are rats. They are Rats. Nancy banged away at the keys out the corner of her eye she noticed a deity scurrying down the hole hmmm she thought do I need to get in a specialist she stopped typing stood up and walked awkwardly towards the shelf her legs dripping like thin pancake mix. She consulted the book found a likely number opened the small window and shouted into the street. ”
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