Non-Sense

“It seemed good, the clotted darkness that came everyday.” John Ashberry

‘and what was, or shall we say is, so undeniably good about the coagulated black smudge on the teapot thrung or perhaps flung on the peat moss of the Scotsman’s forested backyard smidgen of space’, I queried the stumbled poet down on his bad knees, eroded hips and worse luck, as we lumbered into the Ashberrian spout

of far-fetched verse and what’s worse, thought we knew what was being said,

within reason, of course….

“the pillars of ante-bellum mansions

were all treasonous and tumbling

while the distended stomachs and cracked lips

of horrid writers rumbled and grumbled through undigested

shivers, those confused slivers of mid-winter night,

that torrid darkness devoid of any light…”