................FOE IS NOT A WRITER BUT FOE LIKES TO WRITE.................................

Sunday, 19 September 2010


he didn’t fill a hole, like so many before him had.
like human poly-filla.
you can even make jokes about it.
i know 
you know what i mean.
the scales were weighing in heavy, the time was running out, no amount of money saved could pay the fine.
Not that you would even want to pay it. 

The weathers changing.
The long sleepy amber afternoons.
morphing yellow gold red orange brown to navy grey silver purple.
Oops and
Violet and indigo
Sorry, they felt left out.
.we had a meeting.

I dont think he trusted her.
but then why would he, she hardly trusted herself.
although lately she was greatly pleased and surprised by the progress she was making.
they both seemed to deserve it.
she was in love?.
she was without a doubt, definately, besottedly and allegorically in love.
it sounds a bit wanky to say but, this ran deep, like ancient legend deep.
she could recall and predict the 
and the past.
She saw her old spirit and could even smell the market place in his eyes, when they dreamed they would press their heads together and become perfect symmetry, 
they would even dream about the same things
He cast a fine spidery web over her and she knitted it into a soft hoodie for the winter.
It was all true
even her aunt had said.

but her father,
 well now that is a different slice of racoon pie.
he, well he, he didnt even notice a thing, well, except for the missing cutlery, but we all kind of expected that.