The boy with worms in his pockets
Unheard little children, in nine fragments
Published on
Nine poems from the sullen ranks of childhood. Work experience, funerals, and furtive fumblings.
Like Virginia Woolf, “I work early in the morning, before my nasty critic gets up—he rises about noon. By then, I’ve put in much of a day’s work.” Feel free to praise on ‘The boy with worms in his pockets’ on Goodreads before 12 London time; for negative remarks please restrain your steeds till the afternoon.