By Marianne Morris.
Lose a few thousand hours in love, then
let's see now, ah yes, and seek out the bloody corpse
Plato said you couldn't bear meeting face-to-face.
Here it lies, a red slick shining on each of your
nails, heavy with ethical mass. Or it lies at your feet, a
small pile of shit with a Christmas Card pushed into it,
a flat Santa which jumps for joy, peacefully fat.
Here it lies, sealed in sanctioned parlance, its
agony deemed unconstructive. You are, I am
so radically selfish,
PROTECTING WESTMINSTER AND THE WIDER WORLD - WE'D ALL BE BETTER OFF IF SHE WAS IN CHARGE A few days ago a person who was very angry at the state of the world, and who had determined to do something v...
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