Last of the leeches

Last of the leeches… Could this be the last of the leeches? Could we pass through this desperately dying stage into a new age… An age with love, an age with warmth, an age with even more captured realness?

No more room for a boy to be taught that they’re the official wheel that turns this… More time for ovals: no time for taradiddle Unravel our morphed industrial - to emphasise what’s crucial, like the oil paint swirls in calm river water or the shock of a cure for another… We know it could be possible, if we made one giant swivel You and I may be no storm, but they say that butterflies create the new norm… So let’s flutter with form, carry the sweetness on Till there’s no more misery for them to feed upon

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