<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On Sickness<\/strong><\/p>\n Well what can I say; what can I say? In the grasp of a nearby concrete maze The room is cold. At each and every five hour interval The room is cold. I think of family smiles and frustrations, closures The room is cold. New, but cold. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Owain Lloyd-Williams<\/strong> is a writer from West Sussex who has just returned from the UK after spending four and a half years living and working in China. After obtaining a degree in English literature and language, he has continued to write all manner of poetry and prose, and is currently adding the final touches to his first novel.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" On Sickness Well what can I say; what can I say? I\u2019ve been in the hotpot little under a month, nay; barely three weeks and a day; first crowded in excess; now shunted, wild worn-out and alone. In the grasp of a nearby concrete maze there echoes space lights and spoiled sounds, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7407","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7407","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7407"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7407\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7410,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7407\/revisions\/7410"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7407"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7407"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7407"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nI\u2019ve been in the hotpot little under a month, nay;
\nbarely three weeks and a day;
\nfirst crowded in excess; now shunted, wild
\nworn-out and alone.<\/p>\n
\nthere echoes space lights and spoiled sounds,
\nvoices high, low and laughing,
\nscreaming bells and Tchaikovsky;
\nchild\u2019s play and fire.<\/p>\n
\nLast night was pure haze.
\nAmid karaoke dreams of a Western well-being,
\nBudweisers and laughs, cigarettes and baths,
\nI nearly tasted what they told me
\nwas true freedom.<\/p>\n
\nthere comes a knock at my prison door;
\nup comes a handyman, belt and hat a blazing,
\ntongue twisting and dark eyes gazing,
\nall to a shy young man
\noblivious to his good intentions waving.<\/p>\n
\nAt night I suck on light-green liquor
\nin search of fixes of homely wit;
\nbarely in video form.
\nI see the eighties, the nineties, Tories, New Labour,
\nbaked beans, English Indians, tomatoes, stale bread.
\nI think of brown tea, (the way it should be?)
\nI think of hot and cold that\u2019s never really there
\nbut by god don\u2019t we wish it.<\/p>\n
\nand wing snapping.
\nI think of brotherly banter;
\neasiness, uselessness,
\nflash in the pan annoyance.<\/p>\n
\nOutside lies wild imagination;
\nritual tongues and love;
\nways of new and old begging naked discovery.
\nPerhaps then the room\u2019ll no longer be cold,
\nand dogs will run free.<\/p>\n