
The Black Guitar
Clearing out ten years from a wardrobe I opened its lid and saw Joe written twice in its dust, in a child’s hand, then a squiggled seagull or two. Joe, Joe a man’s tears are worth nothing, but a child’s name in the dust, or […]
Clearing out ten years from a wardrobe I opened its lid and saw Joe written twice in its dust, in a child’s hand, then a squiggled seagull or two. Joe, Joe a man’s tears are worth nothing, but a child’s name in the dust, or […]
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