Rising fog sets ghostly peat fires across my concrete town. Orange crowns on choirs of lampposts. Pretenders to the morning throne. I pass a town partly hidden from view. I play pass the partial. I peel back mist. I reveal memory. I drive home on roads lit by the past.
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- Kidcobbler
- Spent nine months dreaming on my back. Opened up new horizons, if only horizontal. Woke up disabled, with a Blue Badge and bed hair. Walk with a limp and a stick. Cue the double entendré and the stick. Saving money on shoes. Spending it on thoughts. Overdrawn at the creative bank. Loan facility disabled. The irony! Stronger through weakness. Weaker through slogans. New journeys to be taken. Pop along. I'm off my back. I'm back.
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