03 December 2018
OLD POEM BRINGS WRY ADVICE
Mick Wordley snuck up in the Callington boot hill and caught me gazing
on my Dad's box when everybody'd gone apart from the bloke standing
back with a long-handled shovel and a Bobcat; I took the one of these
women dancing to Jay Hoad years ago at Settlement; the poem's four
or five laps of the Sun back ...
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