writing: number one (a poem) by paul grimsley

number one lying awake in an unfinished morning, i thought i half glimpsed a truth — no fully developed photo or elaborate sketch pen and inked to depth, just something naked, disclosed by accident, and how to describe it? wreath it in words? surely, no glib platitude will do; perhaps if i direct you via an unselective squint, a comment dropped in sparse humour’s net, then the revelation can be shared: but here, past that moment, doubt gathers … the breath, held, dropped, it’s not enough of a hint — a slow accretion of amnesia’s skins reseals the peeled. —————- Now playing: Death In Vegas – Help Yourself via FoxyTunes

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