“The balcony never lets me down. London floods in light below and stars flock onto my hands. Born on the banks of the old docks, the Ark floated by on the milk of my mother's lullaby, beautiful as Dido's lament. Cranes hung cargo like plums over the poor houses and we'd run behind the horses for manure. Hark at me! I remember St. Paul's like a light bulb them bombs couldn't put out, and mother often comes to me like a moth and like a bee I visit the faces of old friends. It's funny the way memories seem like dreams. Or is it the other way round? ” I know what she means. The lifts in my life are broken too.
jean maudit
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7/4/2009 5:30:38 PM
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Highrise Dreams by jean maudit
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