Sorry

that you didn't get

to see me,

hidden in my outzise

paper-board ink

tree

and dripping entrails

on your dress

 

Maybe the melody

we sought to wove

was always supposed

to end in knots

and I'd go crawling over

the checkerboards

lifting and putting down

the bricks you threw

each engraved

with its own symbol,

'FAO', for the suit outside

your door, nothing presence,

assiduous concrete

slab of air.

 

I'm intergalactic now

my type doesn't go in

for kickbacks,

please leave all hate mail

under the sill

when the a/c blows.

 

NB - I am literally just doing improv stuff at the mo' until I get my writing cap back on. It may take a while...