When something’s itching at you
from somewhere deep inside you
and the need to know just what it is
is the need that just defied you.
It’s there and I will find it
( I played Cluedo as a kid )
the pen that opens up the word for you to read
the mildly absurd,
is short of what is necessary
the well is almost dry
the nib is cracked and
I could cry
if tears would only form written words
I’d have formed a library of books..
but they don’t
and I didn’t
the itch is still there.
© 2019, John Smallshaw.