Frying inside

Frying Inside; Here we are then, on the polished wooden floors, sat at yet another glass topped table; solitude is a low lying futon and a digital radio to listen to Late Junction as the night time fades further into the night. These are days of imposting at the work place, the wreckage wrapped up smartly in a business suit with a steady stride. Back home there is ample time to study the psychology of loss, time to use ritualistic tricks and welcome sacred spirits to move my world along in or out of these 16 poems.



© Christopher Sanderson 2017