Don’t Listen To The Bells


games involving firewood

result in splinters


the ants go marching one by one

hurrah hurrah



floored by lino and valium her apron is stuck between her legs

crumpled and damp

tense air on slack cheeks

he is gone and he is still here slapping her rightness in the face

those were some hairy hands



she remembered when they glimmered light with certainty

rubbing off in subtle patterns

delicious and secretive

telling stories of church bells and worn stone, folding like sugar creme

turning up the heat.


the bells


wind this city down, clip the folders shut,  bring adventure to a close


a directive not a soothing

a belt not a swing

a confine not a win


and we are laughing on clouds with our feet dangling in a robust swamp brimming with colour and life.










10 thoughts on “Don’t Listen To The Bells”

    1. I didn’t expect it either, I really was surprised 🙂 my sister in law is going through marriage trauma so maybe all that hype and buzz is seeping in to my normally impenetrable transcendental bubble


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