At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Poetics and exploring the poetic genre looking at the verse epistle.
“Once wealth and beauty are gone, there is always rural life.” Mason Cooley
Shooting The Breeze Dear Jacko, it's been a while, I do hope you and yours are well, still fencing out dingoes I suppose, last we spoke the windmill was like the townies here, lost its bearings, and fallen beyond the pale, I wish I was out there with you, chasing roos and watching twenty-eights, eating wild plums and swimming at the water hole, instead I'm stuck here, it's gone to shit what with all the rules and vacuous fools, galahs, who run the place, oily bastards who bleed that old disease of privilege built on plastic lies and unicorns, like we're entering the promised land, but all we have is alarm clocks, deadlines and rising costs strewn down the asphalt of insane hope, lost in the cobwebs of my mind. I'd love to go on a bit more but I must go mate, I'll let you know when we're coming, just so you can lock up the .22, I might well cock the hammer and shoot the plasma screen. I can hear you laughing, "Silly bugger", let's shoot the breeze instead and, of course, some beers. Well mate, must go, that's stirred me up no end. ©Paul Vincent Cannon