It’s like a laundrette,
her timeline.
And it ain’t beautiful.
The aqualung calls:
Edmund Spencer.
Edmund Spencer.
And we send messages out there,
in the night.
Hoping they’ll survive.
But they won’t.
Be at the Everyman Hampstead,
at Nineteen Hundred.
And don’t be late.
Remember.
Don’t be late.
November 13, 2015
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