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                                   now, have I forgotten anything

                                   sat outside the supermarket
                                   with nothing to buy watching

                                   the cars circulate round
                                   with their screeches of loyalty

                                   and nostalgia; because when
                                   the heart lulls – as it must

                                   to renew beating – the little
                                   ash trees all in a row settle

                                   like a haircut under over
                                   head clouds and seagulls

                                   spiral questioning over the
                                   wooded hills wondering ‘why’

                                   over and over, in two notes,
                                   calling high, breaking octaves low?





being & sitting & talking to myself wormhole: sitting
cars wormhole: up here
clouds wormhole: earthed
lifetimes wormhole: is that so!
passing wormhole: let’s have some ice creams
pointlessness wormhole: escape from Flat Planet
seagull wormhole: good session
sound wormhole: Exceat to Cuckmere Haven