Poem: Watching Twin Peaks 30 Years Later

Laura Palmer’s mother doesn’t know what time the last phone call came – the logs get cut and

the steam piles up. Those lush piano chords sit under the scenes, soft-pedalled playing that

enriches the melodrama, pretty much tells us to love the slow-burn; small-town grinding to a halt.

Lara Flynn Boyle was only better one other time, when she picks at her to…