Category: Poetry
The sun rises through mists onto the land I was born.
And this I see through psych ward windows.
Lying here breathless
Yes, literally sick
Every sneeze is an echo
Of a moan you let slip
“Merci Pour le Rhume”, November 2016
The sun rises through mists onto the land I was born.
And this I see through psych ward windows.
Lying here breathless
Yes, literally sick
Every sneeze is an echo
Of a moan you let slip
“Merci Pour le Rhume”, November 2016
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