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Peterborough Winter here in this ever blowing, ice strangled place I would like to write of tulips winged ants mating semen stroked and finished but the season is a barbituate the trees shiver the lank limpid streets at absolute zero I would like to break the fasting winter but the chill has frozen my cells. sometimes in the south the pocked-marked moon becomes orange and katydids act out Don Giovanni to be born and mate and die all in three days I've moved north a couple of latitudes. Adam Tod Leverton ( Want to show your financial appreciation of my work? Please go to: and click the donate button.

Peterborough Winter