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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 the stunning, numbing cold.
While the heart.
The heart rushes.
And the water moves
sloughs and is borne
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.