Haven't done one of these for a while, so here's a little exercise:
* Primitive*
All night the rain has argued with the wind.
A balloon turns at its mooring, as if adrift
In the hushed pillowed weather of my head.
Our foxes hide as the dawn’s throats wake.
--
David Joseph Bircumshaw
Website and A Chide's Alphabet
http://www.staplednapkin.org.uk
The Animal Subsides http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/david.bircumshaw
twitter: http://twitter.com/bucketshave
blog: http://groggydays.blogspot.com/
Leicester Poetry Society: http://www.poetryleicester.com
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