February 2002
2 tags
Release
Hand in hand in step the silent deserted early hour of just-mopped floors. Shoved out of numbing sleep by the telephone’s toll, pushing past the night guard who yields to the privilege of grief. Echoed march through double swinging doors which burst open on happy arrivals or as haphazardly swing insolently and finally shut.
She is handed over to us, her face collapsed somewhere far from...
