FIRE
hardly poetry
in motion
I slip and fall face-first
the ball dribbling away from me
the goal at my mercy
the very gods of association
football
begging me
to score
before that over
the bar
past the post, every
shot off
target
something askew
with my sinews
what
it just has to be
one day I shall write this
as if it were just
bad
dream
not painful reality
drafting like a maniac
on my mobile phone
I may just
out of nowhere
bring into being
a cannonball
of a poem
artifact smooth and deadly
with that force that
be the product of
mass and
acceleration
crack open any
defence readers
might prepare
(ultimate answer to
so many misfires)
poems 2 die for 