A Poet and I Don’t Know It?

In About, I purported to be no poet, yet here I am having a John Cooper Clarke moment. Well, I wish. I do have skinny legs…

 

Something Hit Me,

Tears are pricks

Between the eyes.

Something Hit Me,

These apron strings

Afford little disguise.

A sort of truth

A wish for lies

Quality is unquantifiable

Yet somehow limited.

Threatened.

Failure takes time.

Something Hit Me,

With a white knuckle

 

So I hit the fucker back.

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