Plough the Grave

Rubbing your memories; aloud
On a flourescent screen of my computer
I bit my fingers on my keyboard
The dab of an equivocal kind

Rueful use of calligraphic letters
Availed no use to me
Memories sticks out in a distance
Punctilious of your beguiling form

I contrite at the flashing shapes
The shattered bits and bytes
Keeping hangover still afresh
To the pivotal joint of my neck

I stomp out the arena of square means
Hoarding my heart with ink in red
Some memories echoed images to my eyes
Some more, plough the grave of my heart

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