These are a few lines that I wrote the other night. Needs a lot doing with it.
Night Poem The loneliness of distraction; a question of language. Cravat pirate, hogging the turntable. Wait — to see the shooting stars tearing holes in the firmament. Name a rose after that velvet queen lost in the garden, painting portraits and hustling the elite for a pound. Taste the names of those gone before, their unfinished manifestos staked to scarlet trees. ©AndrewJamesMurray