Monthly Archives: January 2016

Neigh

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Lead minutes and cotton mouth
the tongue moves slowly
In recognition of words
Tasting the language.
Words taste new and gelatinous
Whilst distant sounds bang
An odd music.
Somewhere on the way there is
Logic held captive
In a sordid room,without windows or doors.
Thoughts are hammering them as we speak.
There is a distant roam
A neigh of wordless despair
Behind a couple of galaxies.
Just set it free.

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Little questionairre

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What happens to things passed?
Do they crumble,do they dry
Like leaves in autumn
Like snow in spring?
Do they collect in recycle bins
To delete or restore?
Do they die and get buried?
Do they live like ghosts?
Is there life after forgetting?
As they itch like scars
And ache as lost limbs.
A dry mouth and eyes like
The echo of air inside
In the moist hollow.
The memory of lost limbs
No longer there but still feeling them.