Seven (given Sunday)

Up early
dogs barking
as if one
were a function
of the other
which is not
at all the case.

Seven line
verses in poems
leave you
the freedom
of no rhyme
requirement but with
room for a pay-off.

Yet somehow
they still need
watching carefully
lest you reach
the end of your
allotment
without resolution.

One answer to this dilemma
is to gradually hopefully subtly
increase the content as you go along
but even then and however much you squeeze in
before you know it you’re headed around the final curve
breathless somewhat but now with no excuse
as regards having said so very little.

In the end
and while of no value
to the poor reader
those bedfellows
self-loathing and
familiar disappointment
must do you.

 

 

 

 

 

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