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‘Curlew. Unfurled and dipping in the Welsh-wet air. Gorging, gouging, long-fanged fisherman, dark of eye, skimming over pale soft sailors sleeping in the depths, as the fish flee in fear. Something about death. And a coot. Anyone fancy a pint?’ Curlew. Dylan Thomas 1948

@fesshole Also at @hebtroco 😉

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