December 2007
3 posts
Coverdale
Once I walked the Cover from the Cover bridge up stream.
We were a small party spread along a path, each keeping our own route,
each trusting a different foothold.
There were leaves enough to be buried in .
To be taken back in for a time – shut down, switch off. We are not such strangers to hibernation.
eggshells
I win the tiptoe- trialthalon four years running. In through squeaky doors and windows, reading locks and handles like braille, pressing down the half inch of carpet which rubs like amplified sand-paper in the black silence under the thick bathroom door, whilst others threaten to wake. It’s like an awful game. A newer version of a childhood past-time – don’t wake Dad – he’d pretend to sleep and...
Note to self
GET THE FUCK OVER IT, BABY