That’s what makes us human,

that we tell our stories;

we tell not just theirs,

not those of the powerful,

but those of the women

and those of the men,

who all but survive,

in our stinking back-alleys;

so out I now venture,

I, who have been sheltered,

who am warm and well-fed,

to collect from the shop

poems written by many,

for you and for you,

for the muc...

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Disappeared poets,

Disappeared poems,

Disappeared talents,

Disapproved of poets,

Disapproved of poems,

Disapproved of opinions,

Disapproved of words,

Jumped?

Pushed?

Fucked off in disgust?

Who cares?

Do you?

Why?

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