Abstract
February is the hottest month,
breeding nothing but anaemic grass,
struggling through earth shiny as a skull.
The taste and feel of cool has melted
like those memories that taunt a mind
afraid of age. A carapace of sweat
coats anyone who ventures out.
We pant like dogs shrinking in the shade.
breeding nothing but anaemic grass,
struggling through earth shiny as a skull.
The taste and feel of cool has melted
like those memories that taunt a mind
afraid of age. A carapace of sweat
coats anyone who ventures out.
We pant like dogs shrinking in the shade.
Original language | English |
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Pages (from-to) | 103-104 |
Number of pages | 2 |
Journal | New Writing: The International Journal For The Practice and Theory of Creative Writing |
Volume | 12 |
Issue number | 1 |
DOIs | |
Publication status | Published - 3 Nov 2015 |
Keywords
- Australia
- February
- T S Eliot