clamour by
– hours, days, weeks –
with no reason I can see, and
the merest modicum of free rhyme
even the slim routine hiccups, leaps; spilling
like last month’s grime from an overstuffed hoover bag
across my living room, to be unwittingly inhaled into my mind

life is measured more by cardboard tubes from used-up toilet rolls

unlikely tales, renewing old disappointments

unexpected entrances and exits

unwanted requests

than by real


©Jane Paterson Basil


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