Note: No profile exists for this entry - most likely it was deleted.
Ink
Flows
To
The rolling
Balls
On my
Feet
Fingers
Connect
And
Scrawl
At my eyes
Abusing
The
Back
Of an
Envelope
Unopened
Didn't
Want to
Prise
It’s
Covered
In a
Discharge
Of blotches
And blue
No time
No format
No plans
Chained
To a sink
And
Internal
Controls
Occasionally
Just
Occasionally
Leave
The sink
And
Reach for
The ink
snapsnapsnap
Made me think of figureskating feet, triumphant in the cooling heat of rythm and rhyme or arithmia for poignancy--potency--scrawled on nothing as perfectly temporary as a bookmark, single serving, but married to the spine of floppy books for life.
I went to a recital once with 6 such bookmarks to read.
If you wish to post a comment you must login.
This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.
Lynn Hamilton
Mon 28th Dec 2015 10:42
Thanks for reading and commenting, Mr B. Your comment in itself makes lovely reading! x