Sport 37: Winter 2009
chapter 2 the book of the rolling stone
chapter 2 the book of the rolling stone
'I want the surface, Ms Marris,' he says.
Mick chews a villanelle, half-opens low chairs. He is neither tired nor thirsty, with champagne fronds, his hands.
Extreme blue planes yearn, scrape clouds.
Crouching behind a fountain, she plays on a skinny nerve.