A poet’s doodle

1….

It catches me awake

tugs at my blanket

once manifest

now fleeting

a verse

long since past

begs remembrance

but memory

doesn’t wait

on frail men.

2…

A request came

through the rush

of traffic and grief,

to be logged into

a poet’s journal

for reasons

hence forgotten.

3…

These contour lines

scribbled

on my face and skin

are the fallout

of a Poet’s ink.

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