Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.


Having had a marvellous time in Scotland (just before the operation) I wanted to come home and write lots of bucolic poetry about the wonderful scenery I had witnessed. This morning, I decided I wanted to write about cows. Then the drugs kicked in and it became about some sort of fuzzy post apocalyptic hellcow that had been beaten to death by a large hardback volume of e e cummings poetry. File under "experimental" Sigh...


deep                  blue              night           oily

                      inkofindia in... flesh


no        obstacle    to whip

            crack---------------------tails and (neck

brace    shakes…)      comes

and goes        … the grass

                     watched by        the     ~ then

         and there~      from crow

crowned lode       to blurred


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This entry was posted on January 5, 2023 by in creative writing, Poem, poem of the day, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , .
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