Poetry

The Great & The Grate

A poem (not about cheese)

Conversation grates on tattered metal. I rewrite old poems — every day the same hours chime on the same rusting clock — why shouldn’t I scribble scraps from riddled rests?

Dangerous light trips over drowsy nights if nobody stops, nobody stoops & notices that the implement isn’t sharp anymore. Gentle teeth blunt their weary greatness onto unsuspecting fingers —

too tired to penetrate soft dermis.

Daniel Clark is a reader, writer, linguist & poet.

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