I feel like my life is like a stack of blankets. I’d like to think that it’s artfully arranged, but, the truth is, one tug and it all falls apart, never to go back quite the same way.
Archive | April, 2011
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Nobody heard him, the dead man
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead.
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
(c) Stevie Smith
