The battery hen lays, silently into the night. The bars close in hour by hour by hour underneath a distant star-glow. Day yawns, eventually, and the...
And through her eyes is seen a newmudded slate; The spatterings of binder thought. If sheep were meant to follow, one after one, she hopes they could...
the clouds continue to move (perhaps they are the same clouds), so much has happened in the in-between (and now I am different) the piles of work are...