From Primrose Hill
Poetry

From Primrose Hill

As you turn back in sepia, Astair-Rodgers light on Southwark station bends, on illuminating post-war tenement brick ways, there isn’t something more to say, something more to pause upon. As you look out on many-wandered fields, plundered creation of peace crowns, or scepter surrenders, as they link in 70s raincoat logic, and spill full with … Continue reading