I banged down doors
I ripped out throats
looking for the words
(it came to this)
I searched father's colostomy bag
I opened a dying patients arteries
hunting for you and your adverbs,
(it tied me down)
I pulled on pink rubber gloves
I delved up and down your passages
probing for signs of 'right characters',
(it flushed me out)
I unzipped delicious leather cased pencils
I chewed the end of many blue veined pens
sampling for evidence of your good taste,
(it poisoned my letters)
I slept with conferences of curly swine
I came up smelling of roses and shite
sniffing for clues to your whereabouts,
(it made me sense)
I listened well to many a weasel's speech
I noted every white mans forking tongue
trying to catch that fabled Freudian beast,
(it made me slip)
I banged down doors
I ripped out throats
looking for the words,
(it came to this)
but in the end after many
miserable examples of my
contrived dialogue metered
out to look & feel like verse,
I gave up the quest to find you
instead i kept my golden silence
in a lacquered box labelled Haiku,
until love comes
needing an ocean of me
to cover it's earth,
there I will sit alone
busy filling the gaps
of your dashed lines
with my white space.
*Sometimes a poet's muse just needs a good kicking
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