Geoff ‘Obscene’ Searle

THE WARMTH

There ore definite periods
when | can be projected,
my loneliness excretes
from my fingertips

into the clay

The wheel tums infinitly
visions of sweetness,
visions of vulgarity,

and the necessary
warmth of the hearth
sparks another firing

in my soul.

by Geoff M. SEARLE