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written by: Ian Richardson


I think of rivers
And the brush of weed on my back
And the flow of water over my face
And the round and round of blood flowing beneath
The flowing over
And the dull deep sound.

I desire the sharp stones
And round rocks
And gravel
And the stunning, numbing cold.

Eyes open
And excoriated
While the heart.
The heart rushes.
And the water moves

The inconsequential
and mean
sloughs and is borne
and I

Ian Richardson

Ian Richardson

Ian Richardson is London-based UK author whose work has appeared in various literary magazines and anthologies. He resumed writing and acting in 2012 after a near-death incident. There were no bright lights or tunnels involved, but he did, after recovering, become briefly obsessed with dancing around his living room to Melina Mercouri singing ‘Ta pedia tou Pirea’.

I have previously published in the literary magazines: Bartleby Snopes, Litro and Here Comes Everything, the actors’ sourcebook 222 More Comedy Monologues published by Smith & Kraus, and I have an upcoming piece in the Between These Shores Literary & Arts Annual.
Some of my work has been performed in Community theatre runs and literary festivals.
Ian Richardson

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