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End Game

The same shadows steal
across threadbare carpets
beneath a forty watt lampshade
leaking plaster peels, dim light.
Jar of Piccalilli spooned at odd times,
night and day. Appetite has moved away.
Six thirty, place laid for no one, no one stays.
plate cracked and dirty,
pork pie pieces forgotten, furry.
Tick of a clock blurs behind hours of glass,
old transparencies, photo's sepia tint,
glazes near fire.
Epilogue, dead of night.
Tuneless barking of left out dog
and now all the time you need
to spend with no one.

13 Dec 10

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nice poem.  maybe omit the 's' in 'creep(s)' in line one and maybe change 'left out dog' in line 14 to something like 'dog outside'?  enjoyable read nonetheless.
 — JKWeb

Thanks for the spot JK
 — larrylark

This reminds of Beatles tunes "the day breaks, your mind aches..." etc so it has a music but 'photo's long passed' is forced and needs are think. A good read (glad it's not rural Korea: tasteless scraps of left-over dog)
 — unknown

 — unknown

I think you are right about the photo line unknown...I'll have a rethink

Larry brain dead Lark
 — larrylark

'seeping' is  not the word you need there
wish i could tell you what you do need there. you might think about ditching l4 altogether

also  'hiss of electric, glow of gas' sounds like padding

excellent poem
 — unknown

 — larrylark

Thanks for the assists unknown
 — larrylark

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