Monday 16th January

PINK ANGEL

At Angel with a white cross sat on stone, framed in spittle & excrement
of birds. The market traders set their spartan bric-a-brac on flimsy trestles,
air perfumed by all-day-breakfast. Conversation not yet public nor
sweetened for the passing browser, documented in the act by
a stranger & a scavenger.

(K)