Monday, 11 March 2013

Just a Cut Up

Bad poems I sometimes cut into pieces,
don't like to throw them away,
this one hangs by a thread,
perhaps if I add a word like rescue,
it might just about save her,
or a random phrase,
a statement of intent,
of how I passionately believe,
the tories are a load of shits.

and if I now reveal, there is no spring,
only the waiting,
outside, knitting together,
pencilled with menace.
and their is uncertainty in every thought
                                                that lingers,
that these words could dissapear in a moment,
tomorrow, could reappear in another arrangement,
perhaps you will hear nothing,
only emptiness . . .
Maybe this will be enough ,
for this one to survive.

( Thanks T.C )

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