Wrung

The stench of it sickens the worms

And the pull draws mountains and men

Reimagined tranquility

Down to your knees in it

//

I’d drown in it

Gladly die in it

Something else, innit

//

But for a curl and a dream and a whim

Build up breeze blocks

Bury the magnets in piles of spinach

//

Tie my legs down

Hands to the frame

Wash me

Sit tight

For an unknown name

2 responses to “Wrung”

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