Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
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Sunday, 24 April 2016
Ginsberg's cougher
I am one of Ginsberg's coughers
I sing in my dreams, sleeping
alongside the woman, who,
dreaming of the truth,
never remembers on waking.
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