APRIL TWENTY ONE
SPARE LETTERS
The lines are getting longer than the queue for bread in nineteen forty two every single letter printed on the page becomes swallowed up inside a world of words producing a sentence then a paragraph or three page after page until the chapters engage the reader with thoughts he never knew before take it or leave it tickle me pink with your pen and ink but don't go sketch me with your quill or scratch me from your will and his portrait hangs in the gallery where the party people hang about drumming up trade for the man we never knew that's banging the drum when every other day is long the longest day turns and runs you can hardly tell that to the trees or to the birds and bees that the wind is blowing it all at all and we're spectators like spare letters left on the page
21042025/150
No comments:
Post a Comment
.Posts over eight days old will go to comment moderation - all genuine comments good bad or indifferent will eventually be published. Spam will be deleted. Many thanks for visiting today.