Wednesday, 26 January 2005

No Man Is An Island

First halting myself with inadequacies, I then overcame it all with the knowledge that you loved words,

love words,

and wouldn't mind if they were bad ones:


Time stuttered as I saw the picture

Over the mantelpiece

Compulsion to write set like the fire

A desire to hear stories

To pour you another drink another

And another slowly

In the dim closing-time light

Forever optimistic

A man you won't meet every day


John Birmingham, R.I.P.

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