Looking at corpses
I know a young woman
I know a young woman who writes poetry, she says she has to
Her mother sings, she says she wants to
She only sings to the privileged,
she entertains them she says
If they don’t come back, she knows they’re not
I know a young lady who paints, why shouldn’t she
She has to do something while her mother sings and her sister poems
She paints in Acrylics and oils, why wouldn’t she?
One has t…
The world of never to be.
I’m writing a book, at least I was,
I planned it all out, with pictures because
It was to be illustrated, by myself it was
With big words and small ones, and even some posh ones
I’ll sell it and make loads of dosh, so I will.
I’m not writing a book anymore, it’s finished.
When will we see it in print, why never?
It will never see the light of day, why not?
My dreams of loads of dosh hav…