Ken's Poetry

Poem

Crease teases
in spine’s shadow
secret place to shine
pen-squeak scratched
on arched white
curved line and dot
dry breath
of dusty words.

Smooth white sheets
crushed into planets
tossed in the bin
back into space
grey on grey brain
ink-splat unspoiled
waiting again
its time
its birth
rebirth
or
death.