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Bad Company

Words are
falling,
tumbling, to
the ground
enjambments
spilling down
railways
without
a sound-
poets, are
whimpering,
writers,
simpering,
readers
wrestling
words
roughly,
regretting
this word
squall
realizing-
this poet,
has
abused
them
all.

It’s
the thoughts,
they keep streaming
like when I’m dreaming,
patterns of things to come,
glowing, jubilant
chorus of trees, singing-
mountains wailing,
thunder, in
the bed. Flying
this kite, attracting
rainbows and light-
troubles ahead,
reel them
in, these
fish, I’ve
caught, collect
them all,
with
just,
a
jot-
Then,
letting them
go,
poooof,
they melt,
just
like
snow.

broken, fractured
words, images-
reflecting red-
blink, blink, blink
off shiny, wet
tarmac, watching
blues shift,
speed away…

magenta, no-golden-
skies, blues
abound, grasping,
pulling, painting
this canvas, read-
thoughts, scattered

Waves of the
Danube whispers,
tumbles, from
golden bells,
davenport
dreaming
still, hear
the screaming,
gulls, over
head, swooping,
plucking, each
new word,
from
this
head.

Time

time, time, to
write the words,
seal the deal,
make it real-
expunge these
thoughts, drain
this head, or
shut up, and
go to bed…