Itchy Itches Scratched - Poem by Andy Brookes
So I'm lost in space, the white paper sucks me in,
the vortex of a white hole, words slip from fingers,
as it slides down the greasy pole.
It is not quite oblivion but surely a trance
falling through the crazed cracks
of chipped china, coffee dregs stare coldly back,
they don't inspire but conspire, light slips out the window
forming a black cloaked night.
through the glass, reflective now, I see the nether world
listen to the scratchy pen on the itchy paper soaking up words.
the inner ear rings like bells but it is dissonant, a tuneless air in a breathless room.
14/11/17 20: 30
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