Friday, 21 November 2014


The words will not
Will not
Write themselves.

Rain and sun alike will kiss
The patterns on your umbrella.
You will lose your enviable physique.
The delicate cutlery from the flee market
Will shatter like your coveted dreams.

But these words.
They will urge you endlessly

You will crumple up a dozen proposals
Find yourself hopelessly in love with the enemy.
Impressive bullet points will embrace
Your once wretched resume.
You will stop scoffing at rap music.

These words though
They will stomp and rage inside your head .

You will indulge in many kinds of stupidity
Buy lingerie from ludicrous catalogs 
Pigeons will nest on your windowsill,
And you will not wave them away.
Your staggering vocabulary will turn inside out.

And yet the words will not write themselves
When you get old and lay down to sleep
The suffocated and mutilated words will 
Creep up and kill you slowly.