We didn’t make the rules: the rows of words laid down like hammered nails — they didn’t speak for us. The thistles lazed in sullen groups, their heads dipped down, they rolled their eyes, they…
Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
We didn’t make the rules: the rows of words laid down like hammered nails — they didn’t speak for us. The thistles lazed in sullen groups, their heads dipped down, they rolled their eyes, they…