Monday, December 19, 2016

Alphabet rain.


Today I burned my poems
on a bonfire of my own vanities
words sent skywards
on vortices of their own hot air's making

Some caught in nearby trees
others falling upon the Westway
the majority fly skyward
taunting a million empyrean chimps

shakespearing
at their monkeyboards.

imagine abstract condensing
within cumulus
then falling Burroughs-like
as alphabet rain
puddling nonsensically in foreign fields

Or circling vultureishly
over a poem's carcass

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