the first rime frost of
winter across the floor of
the wood like a cloth
strewn over with cof
fee beans (stag droppings) what
a crappy sort of
image onwards post-
haste rushing over words and
tree-stumps onwards through
hawthorn and thickets
of brambles (like reading lin
degren to one's goal
PS if you want to read Erik Lindegren, go to here
No comments:
Post a Comment