Monday, 12 April 2010


Your white-walled studio
The right letters underlining its name,
Positing ‘it’s who you know’,
Marking participation in the game.

And what’s in a hanging?
Wondrous public executions.
The people’s eyes fanning
Across the artistic ablutions.

Hung, drawn and quartered,
Scent of death, look deep inside,
Everything strictly ordered,
No imagination supplied.

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