Death in the Afternoon

A poem idea butterflied by, just out of reach
until I caught it trying to pollinate a Post-it note.

I stabbed it with my pen and pinned it to the keyboard
with my two index fingers until it ceased to squirm

and lay dying of metaphoric exhaustion, cut
into three roughly equal pieces, bleeding black ink.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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5 Responses to Death in the Afternoon

  1. J says:

    This is so good that I’m rather pissed that I didn’t write it

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