A sharper diary
Entry reads like a weeping sore
School playgrounds all sound alike at playtime
Stems lean at thirty degrees, a
Terrified flower cowers in ornate surroundings
Seven persons whisper
And listen to whispers they do
Until all murmering rises with rising numbers
The loudest whisper vanishes
I leave
All the eye contact one could possibly wish for
Has been made
A newer room beckons, encourages abusive behaviour
This is no spice market
Only rotting English herbs
Dry out here
By the cleanest of hands
By the most radical of minds