if only
life’s canvas
a few spots here and there
most of the paint running up my arms
like a split wrist exsanguinates time
like an astringent blears eyes not tears
not an eye lash but the whip
of a salted wound seared
across a back bent to plough
the furrow chosen by a bowed head
never to be raised again to any horizon
this side of the rainbowed palette
the proverbial pot of gold
finger-tipped and splt-nailed slowly
oh ever so bloody slowly down
the wall of well i nearly did
and i could have could have if only
if only i did not say
if
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