Writting Weapon

I have been writing a lot less lately as I explained. For whatever reasons, not only here on this blog, but outright I’ve written remarkably little in the past four months. Over the last few weeks I’ve been slowly trying to dig myself out of this period of inactivity. It kind of clicked whilst going over my recent whinge that using my blog is the ideal way to help me.

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There’s still the constant concern that it will be another drain on my attention while I should be focusing elsewhere, but I think I need this now. I need to refocus and I need to think differently than I have been thinking. There’s needs to be more than the be all and end all. I need to think about more than just me.

I scribbled a few things down which I liked, and I figured let me put them here and see what the internet thinks.

*

Seanie slapped me across the puss

And said would you come away from

Yourself you goon you’re all there

I can feel you tingling on my fingertips

from the belt I just dealt you pull your

head away from that noose and do me

a favour and just write something even

if it’s just you whining about not writing

with little or no excuse other than

you’re havent been enclined to.

*

This is a city of hi-vis. Hi-vis and earthy tones. A thousand shades of stone. Words in lights. Red-crossed zones. Tricolours illuminated. Fleshed. Bones. Buses home.

Dublin entering that perpetually about to start to rain stage of year.

Bicycles will be removed. Drops on the stainless steel. Mottled shape shoulders and a bus facade. Cold to touch but who would know?

Troubadour opens his door. Yer all wet ye are says he, not up O’Connnell Street, down the quays. A 46A or 38. A siren sings his door closed.

*

That’s it. I thought I had more. Must be writing too many job application letters* or something.

More to come me hopes.

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