Where In This Enduring Hell Is God's Comfort To Be Found? Poem by Sean Joyce

Sometimes I think my mind
is a bit like a builder's yard.
With portions of poems
phrases and words
Scattered all over the place.

There is ‘voluptuous’
sitting up there on the shelf
(Like two tongues in one mouth)

Then there’s
vitalise
and realise
vacillate and vomit.
Vivacious and vicarious
gregarious and comic.

Where jocular avuncular
evangels the egregious
And the asinine assassinate
the sons of Bognor Regis.

Where Chlamydia gets the regard
a sound like that deserves.
And it’s de rigeur
to dismember
the sound from
the meaning

I have here behind the door,
A long and profound question.
It does ’t fit, it doesn’t rhyme
and I don’t know the answer.

Last week I dragged it out
and stuck it on the far end
of a half finished poem.
Chipping and clipping
pushing syllables into the gaps.

It sort of worked so I sent it out.
Alas and alack and later
I had to go out and bring it back
Saying 'sorry' to the reader.

In the end I hung it above the back door.