He kept me at this -
never far, and never here
through fortune/fear.

Shoe - his father slapped
him on the back with it,
I kiss and kneel to it,

watching the movement
as it flicks back and forth,
my new amusement -

Guessing game with who,
what, when's the next time

I'll see her?
God bless the boy born
with a broken cord,

the ink draining from the pen.
This river's split and flooding,
two temporary beds

slowly wearing heavy with wet,
though like the wheel it's working
yourself back green from dirty brown.

There's fortune/fear, and a sort
of sickness when it's near;
a miss-hit expression of familial

love that turns awkward, turning
a corner on a frosted/y mo(u)rning.
Some say it's a warning.

I say the feeling's never far, never here,
never never near.
The usage of language here was excellent, every single word worked so perfectly with the others. You're definitely getting better within this style of small stanzas and enjambment and the like, and I really enjoy it.


I still don't like this word-slash-word tripe though.