Thursday, 15 December 2011


Across the darking evening bus
There sits a thin question markage ov a man
His spindly back full curvage round
too dripped a head
right down upon
his flatly opened book
the short story ov a broken neck
White corporation shirt,
grey tie, black slacks
Steel rim eyed hexhaustion
He looks so tired of reading
And sitting straight
N so he sorely bends
and painful dreams
of crookedness

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