At last, Mark became himself: the sloped dough of his jowls, the low, glottal growl and a general submission to gravity; a reluctant going down. He became the man I’d always known
Performance poem trying to marry the Hypothetical Bus which 'might hit you tomorrow' with the apocryphal last words of George V on being told that, when he got better, he could visit Bognor.
'Force-feed a fowl with corn and they will call you a man of great taste. Yet force-feed a man of great taste with corn and they will merely call you foul.'
Near the city limits, amongst the sequestered grot of the Plague District, Tetradaemon Hetchel Plantagenet Parish dropped his shoulder and rugby tackled a children’s hospital.