Lost poetry office
I caught an ambulance to hospital
in search of a poetry support machine.
In Accident–Emergency
the groans of my suffering poetry
were stifled under plaster poem of Paris.
In Intensive Care
they prescribed a bypass or a change of heart
but could not get my ink to flow.
In Physiotherapy
the stretching, reaching, grasping
barely moved my limp and lifeless vowels.
So I went to Lost Property.
Said “I have lost my poetry.”
Was given a ticket.
Opus one two five.
Was told to wait.
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