a poem for today, 8 March 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of 8 sentences and its image]
Apollo was a good-looking god but not a very steadfast one.
The roof of the car had been sheared off by emergency workers.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
You've got a black eye on your eye.
Sexuality after all is the most social of expressions, the deepest human connection.
There is a club inside the club, a sort of interior venue, called The Rose Room.
She will say the word and vanish.
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