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voids - new writing

Voids There is nothing to grasp. Nothing to make sense of. No story. No meaning. Nothing except what you make of it. Nothing unless you make of it. I wasted years studying metre and rhyme only to conclude I didn't need them. They were descriptions. Descriptions of historic accidents, contingencies. At ground level a basement window just about large enough for a cat to crawl through. Three pears in a cobbled alley. As a leisure barge turns into a wharf a cormorant across the ship canal dives underwater. I've enjoyed my walks so far this year, and got in one of my long walks out over a day where I get the train home. But only being one it's a loss. Since December last year the growing cost of living crisis has stamped on my finances and trapped me largely within Greater Manchester. Coughs spits and groans of a runner passing by. Monarchists cling to their non-stop news, public grief, genuflection, archaic pageantry of a tattered empire you'd hope was dead with Lizzy Two b

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