On yesterday’s walk to Wilfholme Landings I looked around Watton and Beswick churchyards. I’m not sure I’m a true taphophiliac, because I have never really pondered my feelings of contentment whenever I wander round a graveyard. 958 more words
Lonely things made me sad, lonely tombs most of all. Lonely funerary monuments in urban centres are particularly uncanny and dejected.
What defines loneliness in archaeodeath terms? 1,404 more words
A blade honed to scalpel sharpness
To cut through skin and bone and meat.
Around a fire, a meagre meal, and men
With sweaty shirts and tempers frayed. 344 more words