From a very deep place

voodootoovoodootoo Posts: 1
edited January 2005 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
They write so much
Keys drip with blood
Tapping, tapping
A rhyme here, cliché there
Or maybe everywhere
Vaguely familiar verse cloaked
In the pretense of a thousand weary
Anybodies who long ago abandoned
The cause. That righteous cause
Press on tortured souls
Join fire, black, sun and
Applaud the masterpiece that whets
My delicious chuckle
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • I know a bloke called Pat. In hospital
    he let off wind that sent a trolley fast
    skittling the docs on orbital
    rounds about the wards. That parp will last
    when excavated Hissarlik caves in
    and we stop pretending it was Troy.
    Why? Because it sounded verse within
    the blanket of a sick man's still. Ahoy!,
    see the rhyme as chiming air, the round
    cliche as vital airward gold
    winging spirit wishes on a sound
    and wind to warm night nurses in the cold,
    and now the toot of verse in rhyme's not grief-
    lorn. Enjoy its thrapple as relief!
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