. my shame- brymbo man reworked.

declared love, declared shame
for brymbo man living in suburbia.

declared love for mindless blobs
of gold, medieval collections. here.

ah, we discussed the tonsure,
denoting all humility,moved

quickly to primark, all things
underworn. yet there was no

brawn, yesterday. half day



have come from london, to
stay a while. i remember you
brymbo man.

profanities in town caused
ears to bleed, and where it was
a market town, now it all all
charity and coffee shops. places

change, while the egyptian things
remain so fine.


we gasped at the empty space.

the line cut through, yet the photograph
cannot take or make a true image
of the situation. i repeat the question

no answer can ever come, now
brymbo man. some things we
shall never know, never show.

so we move on to find small treasures,
tiny birds frozen in time, dice to find a future,

to find a friend that has always been

maybe tomorrow

i shall write of brawn.


is this inspired by brymbo man,
or the medieval manuscript?

i have seen other work, more
valuable, skill full, commercial.

yet it is the smaller things,
that keep us busy here,
a forgotten word, shattered glass
and insects.

gold kicks in  to try to claim


 it is just a little thing.

this time.

the shame.







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