Boiling over

Boiling over

Poetry is hot
         the weather is hot
poetry slept poorly
         tossed and turned
in the sweltering night
         slipped in and out of sleep
fragments of dreams
         until the early hours
too hot to think
         and so nothing to say
but still the words come
         the relentless words
the constant stream
         the mind never still
the mind never quiet
         a web of words
trawling the unconscious
         hungry for wisdom
hungry for knowledge
         where did it go wrong
where did it go right
         all those years
all those opportunities
         all those kisses
all that love
         all those gains
and all the loss
         and all the pain

John Lyons


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