poem (Remove filter)
The Cucumber Plot
I have a large knife in my hand
and I’m not afraid
to skin this mother
to sliver away at the
stiff upper lip of a
toughened epidermis
banish wrinkles, dents and prickly bits
and behold it
cleansed, stripped, unveiled
If you ask me again
I will plainly chop
the thing in two
while I wonder what I could be
This repast, the fourth of the day
mentally diarised between
broken blinds and...
Thursday 22nd October 2015 7:47 pm
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