AntigoneTomb, bridal-chamber, eternal prison in the caverned rock, whither go to find mine own? – R. C. Jebb When I woke up in the melancholy city everything was the colour of rain all of the garish primaries of the previous evening obscured by the pitter-patter of dread The books I was reading dissolved into pulp those volumes of lapidary thoughts intangible as fog as that happiness oh so elusive what’s new you say Once in Tasmania at an old colonial prison I walked into one of the cells there was no-one around so I closed the door just to feel what it was like I lasted two seconds people go mad they say Imagine a room a white room no doors no chairs too narrow to sit down too low to stand up my marriage bed (29/5/14; 18/4-13/6/15)
Poems, Imitations & Translations
Monday
Antigone (2015)
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