Sunday, 21 March 2021

the grimes

 the grimes

becomes their life

those times when

a pinafore wife

on the door step

of the works hooter

the smoke wept

as the child turns on a corner scooter

in the merging of home and works

of life and deaths

where tillage lurks

in a cinder field of wreaths

and a belief that nothing changes

and so nothing ever will

reincarnation is a sintered slag

when everything is in the bag

there is nothing to spill

in these graveyard times

even the black lichen lies

born x died y

never asking

why



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