Roughly as poetic as a bag of smashed arseholes.







Scribble back.


Friday, 24 September 2010

2. Tin-can-man

You’ve flash-fried my clockwork mind
That ticks so regularly, ordinarily;
Seared the gears and sealed the links
Between my passion and my memory
Nobody believes a tin-can-man can feel;
That metal heart is flesh, and blood, and steel
Everybody knows a tin-can-man’s not real
Just an imprint of a ghost full of longing

No comments:

Post a Comment