the cat licking its arsehole
the beer is cold, the day
is old, the week of work behind
me, the cares of the world beneath
me – or to the left of me, jokers
to the right, very much the extreme right
actually. it never occurs to me that
there’s a difference between a poem, a
story, an essay or review – it’s all the same
day to me – when I get the chance.
this, thou…
