Writable surfaces

such as this, the cigarette pack, on which I copied by hand a poem I wrote more than 30 years ago, still not published, never even submitting it for publication. what do I care about publication?

be it noted that this is my second blog before I go live.

in fact, heaps of these now lying dormant in one of my disused suitcases, along with my poetry coffins, 4 of them, going, going, and g—

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