11/05/2005
 
One of the characters in my novel is a poet. A goofy kind of poet. This is something I wrote for him, but it hasn't made the final cut.

The Traders

Rum Black raps

Tom Thumb taps

Blacken, twist

They perch with me

Wendel barter

Broken, raw

Drink them blind

Spend my mind

A gutted East, the Priest

Will hark

Falling, pawing

Savouring

The kill

Till pecked and plucked

These traders

Fly not oft

But circle

Coming home.

 

Yeah, yeah, email me

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sites what I write on:
londonist

sites what I wrote on:
über: I haven't been completely honest
somewhat.org: on the up

blogs:

christopher
elizabeth

boys:

tlc
homorobotic
sex, lies & videotape
diamond geezer
vivid blurry
raw youth
secret simon
learn swedish
the rob log
why god why
a beautiful revolution

girls:

dooce
afrochic
belle de jour
pound
jems web
lindsayism

pulse:

timmy ray
link bunnies
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fantastic blogs:

a light fantastic
a chair fantastic
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a kitchen fantastic
a bed fantastic
a clock fantastic

tools:

life hacker
i hate work
hi-gloss film production



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