Low-key Poetry

Someone send me
fifty cigarettes.
Keep me awake
far past sunset.
Get the football on
and make it a fiery affair.
Drown out this
mop and bucket mouth.
Find me a guitar string to
silence a theatre, then
strum all the chords in unison.
Whisper powerfully
into the crowd’s ear
about the journey
to solar eclipse bliss.
Ignore the scattered failures,
the stamps on lamp-posts –
brash stickers of the past cornered
in all that success –
distraction from
the looming task ahead.
Let the teeming rain
return to my brain,
where pie stains survive
in cement, Jackdaws squawk
and there are talks of walks
across the kissing couple hills.
Instead of pizza orders set
for ten; counting stock
with matching socks.
Clocks are the enemy these days
but they may be
my best friend.

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