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© Joe Allen 2011


#166 Headclink. Written and published Jun 15

Within my den of thoughts: a din

of noises there to disarray

the righter way to think, to hinder

what it was to ordinate

or set aside for later dates the things

I have to get to at long last.

Constantly, a clinking set of dings

like glasses by a rail, passed

by thumping trains, that ring and ring

incessantly, or else demand,

manifest in cups and cutlery, calling

your attention to what’s at hand.

What purpose, this? What is there in

unfocussing on any single task?

Would that belcaming took the winds

from blowing me from my path.