Saturday, March 21, 2015


All the men and women I have faced in that final moment ...
I have not prevented a single murder—Albert Pierrepoint
We were very much in love ... I wish I could have found it
in my heart to forgive him while he was alive—Ruth Ellis
A country road. A tree. Evening—Samuel Beckett

two hours from three am
i makes a picture of a fucked-up fairy
that no one will ever see
plays quiet sounds over

to settle its stages add sage
a smoke to quiet it
the silence in the stoppage
feeling more like it more important
scrunched it in plastic like a commodity

added money for the wishing well
smoked now smoked like a fish
banged it all into place

so Irish are we me and the fucked fairy
in the darkness so unbounded
by these and this our hollow hills
reel out at night in their blood

their thrashing
their white gasp


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