© Marie Marshall, except the bits I stole.
Wow…this brought a flood of images…excellent as usual IMHO.
Thanks, it’s as good as my better poems and a little bit better than my worst.
A town with a hangover but still beautiful.
I think the hangover’s permanent, maybe even built-in.
augh, i freaking love you. word surgeon. cutting out the shrapnel, calcification, and tumors from our traumatized, over-stuffed, poorly-nourished language. sewing it back together properly. leaving a pretty scar that speaks for itself.
A scar is a tattoo with an interesting story.
smiles… yes – def. time to look at her unrouged face – that’s where you find the real town..
If not, it’s either the Victorian sewers or the weeping angels in the graveyard. We call it “bonny wi’ ill-forwardness” in Scotland.
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