De-degustation
Driftwood of cloud
across whatever
probably the moon
but not quite sure
The poem I wrote yesterday
disappeared somewhere
and I was left regurgitating
a lifetime of experience
in monosyllables
Driftwood of a poem
across something-or-other
when you’ve had a gutful
it comes back up
Damned reflux
unexpressed in words
just the repeating syllables
that find themselves ajar
in a body marking time
Not marking time, surely...
ReplyDeleteI shall probably change the ending if I come back to this poem.
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