Wednesday, 4 July 2012


You sang me sonnets.
They were riddled with
Fuck you’s and
Guess who’s.
My shameless Shakespeare.

So, Swiftly, I saddled you with dreams
Of someone else’s
You bore them all too willingly...

but not for long.

Such burdens are heavy, i know
and now I am on my knees. Alone.
From this angle you are twenty feet tall
still singing songs in rhyming couplets -
“come to me whole, or not at all” .

So I pack your poetry in pockets
Laughter still ringing in my ears
And seek to unload my weighted years
on more willing shoulders.

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