Will I always feel like this? Like swamp mud Viscous, formless. I need warm, firm hands To sculpt me into something Recognisable Like a woman, or a tree. I wish I was a fearless Roman Goddess Or an African warrior with my Tits out. I would invite death To pierce my soft underside, And then…
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Previously on ‘My Imaginary Dinner Party’… Now there’s a table, a rapidly depleting selection of wines, a tepid pasta bake, a smattering of Pringle crumbs in a bowl, Leonard Cohen, Lana Del Rey, and me. Leonard’s ramped up the story-telling and Lana is sitting with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, hand-rolled cigarette in…
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