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Poached Eggs at dawn

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033 18 February 2004

The poem is more important than the poet's life. But then I realise there can be no poached eggs in space. The new aesthetic of the screen seems nothing to the loss of a cookery based on discrete combinations of natural foods; replaced by crumbless rusks with rehydrated blue green algae sauce. The days of gurgling brooks and the call of the corncrake are long past.

liverpool 2004

 

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