a poem for today, 11 June 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of seventeen sentences and its image]
It appears I lack the finer points.
It was three years ago on a dark evening.
I told her what would happen, it happened.
It was death.
But what does it mean.
It's what you can bear.
Not like that, I want it in you.
Down there, everything is so still and silent that it lulls me to sleep.
It might not be real money.
I had to have it.
It doesn't bother me ma'am.
It never hit my mind.
It looks like a life sentence.
I can sense it when my flesh opens.
It kind of shakes you to the core.
It should be required viewing in school.
Take a long deep sleep.
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