—prose poem by Keith Moul

Few allow a moment for dereliction, especially in a lush green field. Crumbling is to some, apparently, a private act, potential for public liability, third and first parties in perpetual confrontation. But the rude erection; the occupation of land; the sweat of felling, notching and building; the creation of a calm interior, windows to look out at a path or road for passersby or friends in similar pursuit, pioneers whose restlessness would make them stop, talk and share, but probably not destroy.

Prose-poem and visual art by Keith Moul. His works are published widely. Finishing Line Press will issue his latest chap, The Future as a Picnic Lunch, in September, 2015.

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