The pun/penel/punultimi/pennum/ 2nd Last Poem @Ireton Street

The snow and the sky

are trapped in language

and I am frozen, trying to say,

'We built a man in the snow'.

The emptiness yawns

between what I've said

and what you know but

it's my snowflake burns

in the blizzard.

I'm sick of reciting

the lexicon of beauty

while forgetting to

look in it's eye,

like this morning I

stalked Botanic's dark

sheet

so fucking full of joy

I though I was

choking to death

and I thought;

you should only ever write

one poem

and you should spend

your whole life

doing it.

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