Wednesday, 11 August 2010


To read it
As if it
Has just been written;

Letters still dripping
And words ill-fitting
As it’s not yet
Been edited
And isn’t quite hitting
The right notes:

Rare beef still raw in the middle,
A carefree kid not yet bitten by love’s bug,
Sluggers submitting a piss test,
One mitten missing,
A vest half knitted,
A gift remitted,

An artist exhibiting
An unfinished masterpiece
Because of a dumb belief that
It’s art for art sake,
And the making that matters,
And not the taking of time
To wade thru the tatters and smooth them out.

Still I guess it’s better to dip
The unscripted
Into the well of best wishes
Than to leave them with the rest
Of the unused dishes
In my closet.

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