Sunday, 23 April 2000

From "Don't Start Me Talking"

When you're revolting against everything and wearing a bog chain around your neck and a flasher's mac with OUT TO LUNCH painted on the back and bicycling of te work washing dishes at the Cambridge School of Languages and gobbing at schoolkids on the pavement as a gesture of pop absurdity, as I was in 1978, poetry had better be absolutely mind-blowing or you're not going to sit still for it, are you?

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