when the pens run out


when the pens run out ( tuo nur snep eht nehw )

it’s pencils instead

if the paper’s still okay

until the graphite’s gone

like a singing swan

& then they burn the trees

coz books contain paper

& paper comes from trees

growing like money

as the future is a boot

but the muses will insist

then chalk upon the yard

pausing for hopscotch

or carve upon stone

a hieroglyphic haiku

cuneiform prose

the shape of a coma

until all stones are cancelled

& drawing boards beckon

the answer is madness

a squashing of bug’s blood

a dash of silverfish

a healthy splosh of cockroach

grey like a sunday

on white asylum walls

( author notes )

i’m planning to buy wordpress

for a fiver & a big bag of revels

watch this space

( any day now – they’ll cave )

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