So what is wrong with us? You are fragile, beautiful, and need to walk with a frame. I am lanky, dishevelled, and talk with the
voice of the slums. They accept us at the church, there we feel real, they remember our names: David, Victoria, we feel like we
exist.
Davtoria, Vicid, mixed
up us, but there. AND
I/We know what we are, when we cross the Big Roads you hold my arm, I tell you off about the hash, you wag your finger at me about
the pub, bad Dave, bad Vics, but we bow
our heads in prayer, because, because
Best
Dave
David Bircumshaw
Spectare's Web, A Chide's Alphabet
& Painting Without Numbers
http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/
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