Day Three Hundred and Forty-Three.


Today’s theme: pigeons.

Izzy circle


they moved in under the floorboards
tamping the earth flat under the house
to a packed rust, paved with crusted grey shit

they crowded the water mains, making the pipes shudder
held the electrics to ransom
aggressively cooing every time we turned the TV on

now everything is made of feathers
soft and brittle and light like air like you


Sarah circle


Green scarf at her throat and new red shoes on, she stalks in a grey haze through the tottering town, kicking up her feet, nodding along to the beat of the steelworks smelters. Arms kicked up, she’s looking for a bite of bread and a song to sing and the sky to shake her out of the morning and into the day.



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