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needles needling needlessly with little thread... or much of anything else...

(foolish dribbles to be written at uncertain times, on an irregular basis, from uncertain sections of the ever expending universe, and from whatever dimension I-We-Us-Them might find ourselves/ myself in …)

Monday, January 31, 2005

EARLY YET 


Glendronach
100 percent matured in sherry casks
15 years old
now that’s a poem
in and of itself blessed malt express
going one hundred miles an hour
in my chair
swiveling singing drinking coalescing dingbat
bottled in Scotland.
Posted by: François Pointeau / 20:30
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