Possible worlds In the grass blades of aluminium discarded, on wet tarmac your beloved face discarded; all in the swinging moment of a smoking diesel engine. The softest stomach now slick and sticky; the kindest eyes weaken quickly. My hands are holding your head; your hand is shaking my shoulder. And beneath us, into the absorbent sheet of earth, possible worlds are discarded.
Left wing commentary from the heart and the head