a child's eyes my toys
cast across the bedroom floor
with the accompanying magical
folklore from my errant dreaming
my rolling chassis is still
as unsure as a newborn babes
for what appears purposeful
and godlike has assumed this gate
from the rubble I stumble upon
The words that I say
are half beliefs half
bluster a type of blagging
obtained cheaply imbibed
from the erudition of libraries
This mind stuffed with pocketed
borrowings what I will leave behind
is a trail of cellophane wrappers
from around my humbugs
the legacy of having once eaten
Far more than was needed to survive by
Written by Stephen Lumb
March-April 2026
March-April 2026
No comments:
Post a Comment