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3 stanzas

 

3 stanzas

 

Over it goes the words we speak & who knows how it lands my ladyman? & then you know you’ve just gotta write because life is sterile & few people call & it’s busy like early Mozart on the piano like Italian bureaucrats like Banksy brats like deep fried salty sprats I would do with a leafy green.

You didn’t laugh with me today there was a tension in your spray I was drunk I wasn’t thinking but you were seeing patterns & I merely blinking my voice is loud so I sound assured though my heart is full of doubt & god knows who’s in control?

Poems work best in 3s though Byron’s Manfred has 4 that’s why I struggle with narratives coz I’m too much in my head Victor Hugo rarely went to bed he paced & laced in inkblots his grief & madness & what great men don’t admit to his perpetual sadness.

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

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