Poem: Write Your Own Horrorscope

The sky is the colour of superman’s hair We stroll down the street with a samba-band sway We fall in love to the key of D.                  Minor.

We’re doomed.

It’s late in the evening as he blows that room away. Our eyes are rolling in our head like marbles in a jar.

Tonight has been one hell of a week.

Art is not a hammer. Art is a mirror.

I feel sorry fo…