DOWN BUT NOT OUT.

The week

Has leaked

Into a weekend

Spent mentioning

Torrential conditions

And summer omissions,

And I’m wishing for inspiration

To ignite a fire behind my eyes

As they appear to have dried out

Since the Jubilee jamboree gleamed

And my imagination’s scenery delighted

In igniting lines of lightning upon my screen.

And I rarely allow the bare bones of my prose

To impose themselves beneath my page’s velum

But I’m telling you now I’m well on my arse and about

To pass the point of doubt where only tumbleweed breeds

And seeds creep even deeper into the creases of uncertainty

Until all that’s left for me do is sit and stew upon what I’ve missed.

But let us not dwell where the devil sells hell’s road maps

To unsuspecting partners in rhyme who’ve timed out,

Because no one is lost enough to cross paths

With the sort of ghosts whose hosts have

Handed over their souls to Old Nick,

And would like to trick you in,

Because whatever fall

You feel yourself

Reeling from

It will never

Be that

Steep.