In that zonal zone – there is a seized whiskey at hand and the people outside are finally making meaning of themselves
Iced to within a sacrilege inch of their sober being – whispering for the has-been

A plagiarised umpteenth cigarette to set the soul on fire, rolled on one side, spat on by another – this thing of godawful beauty, she sits and sizably sees something

From a fair degree of nothing but for derogatory behaviour
A way – away – with wonder-some words and it will, shall, absolutely hurt because therein, they say, lies a red-ribbon of reasoning
A lacking yet forever lathered by inept people industry
Scribbling and never really letting themselves get to writing

Just hiding within the tend of the turf – and his afterthought father did use that pen like a snug gun, a shovel to worship if you will… digging, digging, singing of his own son’s brilliance with words
Misshapen instances

A thirst for a hidden vision, the knowing knowledge lives dangerously within, which never settles to spectacularly sit – all kaleidoscopic and seriously inescapable tendencies caused by pausing effect – the uncomfortably jovial soul, the long-forgotten, -lost soul
A sod upon societal behaviour

She will heave and hope for something all that bit better

Heaney leans in and whispers near her lessening ear to tell her that all of these words are like ropes of portrayal which have been gladly puppeteer-ed
Wherein rural aside masterful misbehaviour means to mean everything specially significant

Down and down, she arises by inherited flames of fire, with the phoenix screaming at her chosen side

The circularity is sensational, finally makes sensual sense of its secondary, tertiary, circumference-d self
Just not in her lifetime, yet…