Two poems by April-May March

Blue murder uncovered
by tentacles preaching through phone lines
and women who dance like Fred Astaire.
Spin the roulette wheel
and hope for the best
There is more to life then starving
to collapse
for a malnourished waistline
as you waste away in a petrified house.
Tumble down the stairs
chase thieves down the alley,
cry behind the wheel
of a car ten years older than the day you were born,
fondle thin with shame in late spring
Being in Devon
we were tired and distressed.
There was nothing about
but lingering locals
who drank bottles of white and red.
I was hoping for a holiday romance
but nothing materialised

• April-May March says “My bio is short and simple really, i'm a Factory Girl from Norwich, England.”

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