Pedestrian crossings beat as my heart.7 June 2017
“They’re called barn doors,” she tells me.
He looked down at the vast valley below him, at the tops of the trees that were smudged grey and purple in the fading light.
There will be another starry night.
Her message box is empty. She stares at the blinking cursor for a long time. Then she types: Poem for a Boy I Don’t Know.
we are a family of paper dolls
A banana is prone to bumps and bruises.
There was a ‘toilet etiquette’ poster on the stall door, below the hook where he’d hung his holster and pistol. He would have used the poster, if it wasn’t covered in various colours of bubblegum.