why write

I’d been writing and reading
and the more I read the less
i wanted to right.

Why write?
Surely there’s
no beauty left to tell.
Where is my original?
Dead and nailed to the wall,
and indecent assault and tears
and the tips of a doves wing.
It’s all been seen before.

But I thought of something
that somebody somewhere
had told me
once.

It is only by spouting the shit
and writing the crap
that the true beauty of your soul
can be set free.

So I appologise
for setting it free.

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