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T Inkpoem May 25
Are you a lockdown insider
A morning imbiber
A bra-less detainee
You don't have to be.
Dress your best
for an
Instagram fest
Populate your head
Through portals of greatness
Read a book instead
T Inkpoem May 25
There are highways on the cliff tops
On the short grass amongst the bog pools
Made by rainwater and salt sea spray

Much used they run through
Crowberry and low grown heather
A world wide web of lines

Picking our the dry ground
The high ground by a hares breath
Flattened by the passing of pounding paws
T Inkpoem May 25
This is my poetry persona
I don't own her
She's law unto herself

— The End —