Drunken Thoughts


Drunken thoughts, reading Umberto Eco in a Yorkshire garden


The lavender sunset, upon a retiring hill

Death-tinged with evening, and waiting all the while.


The book is back-broken, thumbed like a smeary glass:

The purple prints betray my reverence.


Unveil to me the face of what I know of,

A sunset, or an apocalypse postponed. 



Inspired while reading Umberto Eco’s Apocalypse Postponed whilst looking out of an extraordinary sunset over the dales. A lot of the language itself, including the eponymous sunset, has been purloined. But I like this brief, unassumingly mystical little scirbbling.  


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