My next poem will be THE ONE
No more pissing about across the
backyard ladders, the aged bric-à-brac,
that cry tales of tumbled stone-dross,
off the old houses’ broken backs.
It is time to write in ghost blood,
that will stain forever time; to
till the soil beneath nail’s black hood,
for the grime words there are mine.
It is there I know, if I stay my hand,
to wait the flow teach tone, for in
my mind’s cracked cavern grand,
the tears soak my very own.
Chisel with a paintbrush pen,
to statue you in your track.
Genuflect to this my poem then,
for no one is going back!
Not sure if this is THE ONE
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