Tonight's Poet Corner: Cobweb Pipe
Cobweb Pipe
by Belinda Roddie
The smoke was dust, and the
ash nothing but clumps of
crying lint lying languid on the
too plush carpet, as Graham emptied
pouch upon pouch of the most expensive
tobacco, only to have it taste the same
every time - like death.
by Belinda Roddie
The smoke was dust, and the
ash nothing but clumps of
crying lint lying languid on the
too plush carpet, as Graham emptied
pouch upon pouch of the most expensive
tobacco, only to have it taste the same
every time - like death.
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