Poem

the art of almost ( sort of )

 

the breeze picked up

& sucked

the final piece of the jigsaw

from the grip of my finger things

then out

the open window


'that's cromwell's last wart'

i huffed

so i chased said piece of jigsaw

down the lane then o'er them dales

for centuries

to no avail


( the end )

...












( author nodes )

yes, breezes can suck too

in fact

every time a breeze blows somewhere

it sucks somewhere else

that's equilibrium & day 1 in wind school


cheers

...

 

bring back medieval keys ( ! )

in medieval times

well the keys were so much bigger

 plus the locks were far larger than today

yet the people were smaller

yes we've grown taller

& the keys & locks have gone the other way


this poem you may say

is devoid of a point

like a fly once plucked of its wings

but at this going rate

keys will soon be subatomic

then we'll never ever find the fucking things

...