Here’s a short poem, from a batch of loose, scruffy and ragtag ideas I’ve been playing with lately. I’ve tried a couple out in public and they’ve gone down well… I may give them all a haircut and a shave and turn them into real poems.
A terminus without a trainline:
A suitcase without a holiday;
A book without a font;
A king without a coronation;
A map without a route;
And a chair without you.
