Tuesday, June 26, 2018

Kerri Shying R # 474 - not the toffee I'm bits of splinter off the stick

 my last legs    they squeak like mice   hinges tight
  and joints  corroded      opiates don’t work  
 tin woman on my yellow black and red road  this
  fallen  hair  in stooks    sat out for gathering
by the helpers   when they come    I am the apple

not the toffee  I’m bits of splinter off the stick

a little knitting  pot of tea  spot of telly    no work
 of essence   with the dog far happier  than I’ve seen
 anything in years   me  chasing cutworm through
the black loam   singing up a newborn Spring   
tarpaulin  unfolded     by the stream


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