the start of things, the making of the welsh cape. tapestry. we have none here, we have a blanket, washed and faded. we started the research and found he lived near the thing he wanted.
we have spoken before. the looms stand idle, some in store some with recognition. machines work less in cold, sheds and lack of encouragement. we worked the day with thread and needle, only turning forward, cutting cotton backward.
it is the softest white ply. woven correctly into squares. neat. colours merge, while patterns change through punctuation marks. those looms lay quiet.
seems we have not been to all the mills, never will. some are gone, yet we have seen them. seen things that are never there. lost our way, if there ever was one?
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Blackened elder dip their branches into the rivers sweep
flood water has adorned their tips with shredded waste
brought from towns upriver to ocean seas and desecrate
life with thoughts, out of sight out of mind, thrown away.
Yesterday writing a bio in 100 words for a poetry magazine! Is that really me?
aesthetic, showing the words for anaesthetic, little creatures placed to sleep a while. on waking find that spelling is not so awkward now. checked without books. cover the title w…
Source: . inauguration .