Wednesday, 1 December 2010

the ink from my pen ran out
out it ran dribbling like a drunken tonk
trying to be elusive
it spread like a contagion in the white of a
blank page
it was obvious
the ink had a genome
it could dance in time
and reap the crop of words
but such copulation leads to the
breaking of the page
I'll chuck it in the bin?
there's a daring spin
put that in your pen and write it.
smite it.
disguise it.
burn it.
no blank page.
need some sage.

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