After the rains
So much of it
Comprised in gutters
Perpetually jointed
Has come bending
My attention
A world sails by
In it’s gulf
Don’t want
No invention
Come by easy
No Sunday craft
Or Fridays tossed
Upon invention
Don’t need no
Held-up fire arms
No sunny disposition
Tongues are already
Parched for words
Too swollen
To channel the rain
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2016
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