Wednesday, 29 May 2013

A Riddle Hull

Pockets full of keys
And rooms full of doors,
Then desire for ease
And a life full of chores
Wage, car, home                   Spittle-dull
Dull ache head;                      A riddle hull.
Tired eyes that say
“Clipped wings have still beauty”
But where’s ardour in love
When love is but duty?
Pinball brain,                         Brittle skull
Thin wall house                      A little full
Glass jar descends
Fog rolls on over
Lost all intent
The stitching unwove her
A lengthy sigh                       A dwindled mull.
Pill, wine, sit;                         A little cull.