They were not his words,
he never wrote the ones
he couldn’t spell
– even though for sure
he knew their meaning.
You feel the words,
he said, the sounds
are either right or
wrong when read.
Read them out aloud.
I was bored by his
delusions, the words
were shit – alliterative
I’ll grant you that but really
lacking omnipotence.
Our falling out was easy;
I left, and when he died
I read his verse. I must
confess – when read aloud
they never were his words.
© 7 March, 2007 I.D. Carswell
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