oh, i could tell it so many ways.
with him barely
sipping the pale air
you will not find it by name or number.
once more with feeling:
[bellowing] you do not have to be good
«mother doesn’t give a shit.»
one day the woman awoke
we are drunk for the first time
in the foothills
of cadair idris
fresh out of school where for five years they called us lemons
they come to me for the stupidest things.
sea, ever changing, ever constant.
what do you know about mother?
you cannot know mother.
Linoprint and birthday poem for Em