No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story.
Poets never look like their poems.
This one ends with you wearing a tunic
as blue as a cornflower clasped
by a golden brooch, and your fearless glare,
and the sword, the bloody sword.
In truth, I couldn’t argue that everything here wasn’t a little different.
“London… really London.”
“Yes, love.” And for a moment Alice looked so hopeful, Sandy remembered how she’d felt, going to London with Byron for the first time. He’d promised she could go to any band, any gig, dance all night. Promised her clothes, but she just wanted to see bands. He’d promised her every band ticket she wanted.
There are, however, a lot of blokes on this list. Which is not surprising: there are a lot of blokes about, writing books. But I was missing half of the puzzle.
I want to slyly install my sadness
Into your brain, like malware. Load it
And explode it.
Everything I wrote myself I hid or promptly threw away, whether revenge fantasies or what I later found out is called fan-fiction. I had no notion of becoming a writer, however, until I was nearly eighteen years old. At that point I quite suddenly realised I was one, whether I would or no.