A newsletter sent by Eddie Cross from Bulawayo (Zimbabwe) on 19th February 2007 which appeared on the Great North Road Bulletin Board, inspired this poem.

1 part Mail headline, 2 parts taste for the finer things.

Unsuspected happenstance, a womb memory with slapped face and gauntleted hands, a history sitting before you, open but surrounded by sourceless red light. Heavy winds that have borne me,

the music began to play and they couldn't stop themselves, they danced and danced, that was all they did, until they died.

Given, the seeds that i said so when what they saw was the tree, unbidden they grow, and with a crunchy bite my eye the apple is half left. Spit kernel into shade, a leafy half-light

The form of words that unlocks that fastened box, safe, and chest wide open shuts that open door attempted by a hungry face of a dream crossed.

And who knows how many gizzard stones...

So this one's a Valentine to those who crave neatness/ It's understandable! Sometimes a cure seems delicious. Much cleaner than regulating a spot of indulgence with a dam explosion of loans