September 2007
2 posts
London
Sabres at the ready. …displaying at all times, a fashionable and determined disaffection. A faux world-weariness as transparent in its intention as a sulking child.
Back from the North country, end of the summer
…looking backwards through the fall, I smile, cruelly at my pre-Spetember self and her forgetfulness. How she failed to recognise the nausea, to diagnose the anxiety – the inevitability of a thousand, thousand tiny deaths, predestinate, perenial as grass.Of things put to rest and things new-beginning. Just out of reach. Of iron in the air and a current of blood.