Friday, 4 November 2016

these sweeps have said it all

these sweeps have said it all
dragging bristles cross floors
polished high like mirrors
following rain slip slick
for this constant downpour
numerous voices say
“my peace is gone, my heart's heavy”

can't get up to wash yourself
thirty-year old pain stays
told “look to the future”
“embrace blues/avoid greys”
you won’t brush teeth neither
philosophy’s fever
means nothing to torpor

no answer but to do
set fire to Wednesday
love all and trust a few
try hobbies from the book
playing tunes on kazoo
sketching the light on dew
dance witchly cross a brook

No comments:

Post a Comment