Notes for Notes

In my notes
there’s broken songs
and aborted rhymes
of dining lobsters
and suicide notes
from tormented minds
ducks in skips
and odd shapes
that make sounds
which no-one can see
and clouds made
from liquorice
upon which sit
sarcastic angels
with questionable
archery skills
but for the most part
there’s a little boy
in shorts
pointing back at me
from a sepia wasteland
and I feel I know him
and he knows
more about me
than even me.

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