What can you do with a banjo
when you’re lazy and the moon is full?
I’m wretched and lying
like an old poem,
doors
where my eyes, ears, mouth, nose
should be.
*
[Seemed to me to be a block of wood awaiting the adz, Gary. I'm allergic to words like "memory," "sweet," "regret" and "words," so off with their flowery heads. It now feels like a fragment in search of a sequence, I think. Cheers, and thanks for including me in this, Z]
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