Autum by T.S. Hulme

A touch of cold in the Autumn night— I walked abroad, And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge Like a red-faced farmer. I did not stop to speak, but nodded, And round about were the wistful stars With white faces like town children. Thomas Ernest Hulme

Letters to the Otherworld

I write letters to you though you’re in the Otherworld I type your name in the search box of the browser I know, you’ve left this sick demented world But I keep writing till I am tired, till I get drowsy I know there’ll be no response from you, because there can’t be any I […]