Spoiler
The first poem I have written. Something of a free-write at that.
.......Bread broken
by hands as dry as the cowboys lunge,
and later they hold
quiet good byes
over a cold ear.
For veins of wine,
the grifter's fallacy
belongs beneath the glitter of
phosphorus, where treacherous words
escape like bats from a cave.
And the audience gawk
the rorschach fleet
swirling against the moon;
the black sky heaves and crawls,
steeped in unholy metaphor.
.......Good byes don't hurt,
not like I'm sorry.
God knows I've uttered a few.
Like when I learnt
that breath can be forced
into dead lungs
and the metronome
thumped from hibernation,
but that doesn't matter any more.
