went to town yesterday, saw the signs of another
world. stood in the bank some time, only one
assistant these days.


the sun colours the clouds with empathy.

drawing the child with found fabrics

watching the marks come good, no dots
intended
yet they came
without warning

the bracken fields
fill with rainwater
the submerged cartwheel rots
as kale sways
in the outlier fields

After the languid storm
cold against the grass
winter beeches thrive
as the flotsam swirls by
the Riverside
fills their proverbial prose

Keith.

Thankyou for popping by again. Good to see you here.

Yes the noise goes on all day when they strim. There are three graveyards here and there are usually two working together.

They start in the lower, town council. Then the middle, village council, then the churchyard.

I am sad to say **** killer is employed for the edges as if there is not enough death already Keith.

The way to a man's heart
Is through his stomach.
Does this apply to
Cannibals too?