I feel a bit of a self-retrospective coming on. An 'introspective', I suppose. Some stuff from Scotland, 88-89, which I came across in a folder I'd forgotten I'd salvaged. The poet then was not a happy camper. Most of the pieces are quite dark, although most seem to be grasping towards some idea of self-knowledge, which is only to be expected. A few are quite whimsical, with a lightness of touch which still brings a smile to my face. I promise to post only those which I deem worthy of an airing - and an airing they certainly need; some of the A4 sheets have got mould on them.