port in a storm

something strong, something for the road

it’s touch-and-go and if we make it, it’ll be with hands and wine and 3-in-1 oil

lead in the bloodstream and inkcapillaries

Setting typewe spit on electricity: we balance our humours down in the crypt

over a pint

(or under a pint, as a beer mat)

it’s personal, now. you and me, outside.

proletkult[at]gmx[dot]co[dot]uk

[Joanna Hope Bricher]

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