Over-worded worthiness

Over-worded worthiness 

There is this cliché of a poem crawling through my veins;

its words clotting in the fibrin of thoughts gone septic;

the frisson in anticipation of a vesiculating verse

is sinking in the dread of an oil rag threaded thought 

gone waste. Oh, do please stay with me through the

refractory of a mind on its road through the salt marshes

receding on the tears drained of every poet who hammered 

the sign ‘beware of the bog’. That the dropped stitch of the trawl net 

will let the silver-scaled words escape back to the deep dark oceans

of mind - or slither down the blind fish caves of thought - 

does not bear thinking of. Oh dear god of syntax 

grant me three verses that will bottle the genie of 

immortality in words, so that I may exsanguinate slowly and

adjure a eulogy that will deny the everlasting pallor of the page. 

Amen.