Poem
'say ...' a poem by Michael Farrell
by Michael Farrell •
the gardens dyed silver. finally he was
less keen like an eaten bird, it wasnt my thing
the path diverged off course to a camp.
you were willing to grow a pomegranate inside.
here they were gods people with their quiet domestics,
the redheads were nicer however. the pram, was full with a baby,
‘dreaming’ of white museums. & white art.
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