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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