It's just, 'Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter!'
I am worried about. It haunts me still.
I am worried for the broken-up girl,
as to exactly who she was calling .
I imagine someone. Not me, of course.
Someone she constructed twenty five years
ago. This fantasy lives in her head.
Mine, so various and ranging.
She was all reality to me, gone. (Gong).
Nothing can deny the guillotine:
I will just have to grow another head.
Luckily, I am the Green Knight not poor
Gawain. The bleeder bleeds into the land -
crabs and molluscs aplenty. Axe happens.
YOU ARE READING
Gifts and Shards Vol 2
PoetryThis is the second and final volume of 'Gifts and Shards'. This takes us from the second month to now well over three years later, though there were many C poems in the collections tracking the seasons. There are no similar stories!
