Its 3AM, and I'm sitting in a bus. Here are some thoughts.
Poem: Coming Home Four in the morning. There is an Irish man on the bus Talking to himself, clearly intoxicated. "I'm coming home!" He blurts out suddenly, To an audience of no-one. But I hear. After some grunts and mumbling, he asks: "Where the fuck are we?" A mighty question for his... Continue Reading →