cleansed
he returns to his work
ready
he takes his tool
(no – not that kind, you dirty-minded bugger)
he makes the marks
and starts to pare
more gently than before
softer than before
slower than before
the shape will come
it will be
what it’s meant to be
and he will be
what he is
because the rest
doesn’t matter
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A couple more poems from Blodyn
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Poetry sucks!
I was just reading through an old notebook-journal type thing and came across the following ramble about poetry. I scribbled…