Every story has a picture

And every picture has some words

Every word is dressed and spliced

Filed into lines of scraggly words

Strung and hung together one after another

To form sentences paragraphs

And sheaves of misbegotten tales

Drawn and picked out

Of the cold hard depths of the imagination

The aching hand of a straining chemist

Of beleaguered and brightly coloured thoughts

Stirs the pot of all that had laid dormant

And hidden in the muddied depths of unreality

As the pencil breaks

And every story has a beginning and an end

Some sit quite naturally

With a smile on the face of popularity

And some are killed off quick

Cold hard dramatically

The body of the bleeding chest of all humanity

Left in the frozen waste

Of a cold and wet city street

And the alchemy of words goes on

Pushing shoving anything

That’s got a beating pumping breathing heart