surreal poetry
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    The Blurb
  by Sam Freek

I left a fork in the sink for over a week after using it to whisk up my thoughts into a stringy white omlette
Standing still in the fog I didn't know which way was forwards
The focus grew from the side of my head as I realised a limp wrist was all that I needed
Three theme tunes all played at once through the gaping beak of a pigeon
Ink blots fell from the nearby gooseberry bush which had only grown 4 inches in 2 years

Nobody knew what happened as I seized comfort in the tall grass
You should try this on for size blurted my invisible friend from Coventry
How do you spell the sound of nothingness I insisted
After taking a look inside I became surrounded by aged beauties of a special variety
Nothing grew anymore, not to the midwest of West Bromwich anyway

A quarter of pear drops and a back issue of a 1987 edition of a London A to Z please
All my lucky charms failed to work so I placed them on a ferry that was setting sail to Amsterdam
Tilting forwards he told me he could play the guitar but only after his initial treatment
A dark green lit room brought back memories of living in a fish tank
Not to be flummoxed anymore I brought a wry smile to my face which completed the sequel

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