the past must be forlorn

A little disaster cries alone
along the papery border
of this scene’s resident sea,
rattle cracked and impotent
has been discarded and will by dawn
be given to the corrosion office;
or maybe not the corrosion office,
since the corrosion office mainly deals

in metals – precious for sure, precious,
metals but not always precious metals,
but metals that are inherently metal
– reckon the disaster that is crying
would be the more metallic candidate
while the discarded rattle will find
a better home with a hermit crab clan.
Assuming they can drag the damn thing home.

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
This entry was posted in exercise, free verse, no idea, nonsense, poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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