Wednesday, 10 September 2014

Dead Lines

On writing rules irregular
When bleeding from the jugular
To please the managing editor
Or to pay the whistling creditor

No ink the fountain pen complains
Diluted dry wells filled by rains
The self-imposed competitor
Can’t justify expenditure

Material like panning gold
Rivers babbling thoughts untold
As though sitting thinking ever could
Light a fire whilst chopping wood

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