'Untitled'
Where a brain used to be.
It's whole lot of space
and it's troubling me.
At night it get's cold,
When there's nowhere to keep
The warm dreams of dancing,
And songs that bring sleep.
There's a space in my throat
Where a voice used to sing,
But I threw up the words,
And there's no more to bring.
It wrote down the lot
"This film's got no plot!"
is holding a ball.
With blank paper dresses
And script on the wall.
There's walls in my way,
Where a road once stretched out.
And I keep hitting bricks,
So my brain's fallen out.
Harry O'Neill
Wed 1st Aug 2012 13:00
Lois,
Nicely concise...more.