Reality demanded such fervent focus,

that one joint was dislocated from the rest of the pipeline.

The crucial aside,

the elbow that allowed the flow of thoughts to scatter where they would.

The hole was soldered shut and in those rusted highways,

the phrases recirculated.

Leaching out the copper and the tarnish to render them toxic.

And beside that festering legionella trap, the bent tap,

once dripping with ideas and fury,

patiently rested.

It wasn’t a sudden onset of poisoning ones self,

but rather an insidious creeping that shook the body and shrivelled the mind.

The filth of a month’s anguish, distress and exhaustion

constantly washing through the mains, as the valve cycle started afresh.

There might not be much to salvage from this stagnant reservoir,

I took a sample and the only words I could make out were:

‘authentic, bastardly conflagration’

The abc of a shorted circuit.

Someone has to get the damned arcwelder out before the system blows.

(c) Accidental Tentacles 2016

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