Inspired by Douglas R. Hofstadter and his recklessly wonderful book Le Ton beau de Marot.



Her hands so hard with camaraderie

do slap my cheek repeatedly,

torment my face

through days of satin,

nights of lace,

in bursts of latin

at a heartbeat's pace


I've learned to bow to what's awash,

what's almost almost, often not,

crying wow and shouting gosh,

at nothing and a lot


My coffee sips me down into the mug,

where my senses and I do drown like a bug

But I rise in the great beyond anew

out of Elvis Costello's left red shoe


Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2022-05-24 at 09:28

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