Gargling with gargoyles

When I flip and skip a word or jumble lines
that become the sum of what I do
it doesn’t bother me
it’s only my pretence at poetry and who cares anyway?
no dear
he’s long gone along with Shelley, Keats and John Donne,

I feel at times alone
like the lines don’t want me and
I roam

In Dubrovnik with a beatnik or
on the Rhone or the Rhine
I feel at home
I feel fine, in
Sierra Leone sometime alone
but mostly with friends.

I’m going to keep onĀ skipping
keeping on ripping the
words into shreds
making some beds to
lay upon
I am gone.


© 2018, John Smallshaw.