Wednesday, 16 February 2011


peek round corners

More eyes than face

They nest on crocheted blankets
More old people’s home


But how old are you anyway?
You could be 16 or 60 – your face lies,
Like your body.

Sparrows in ill-fitting clothes
Hang from wires,
Not feeding

But being fed.

To name this place Phoenix
seems cruel

All I see are ashes.


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