How soon is now.
I’m hearing mellow but I’m not feeling it
And then ? Well then.
So I listen
to now put then away,
another broken piece of yourself.
How much is left,
when every tiny victory in a hill of defeat
Poets are cracked pots broken in translation.
Now sun streams in the window
as sense goes out.
Pieces of a man.
Pieces of eight.
Put creation in the drawer.
Lock away vulnerability.
Ambition has walked in the door.
I listened to Gil Scott Heron's song on Rachel's blog and wrote this at the same time. Great to be back in the saddle! Well done Rachel!