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written by: Quinton Farrow



He counts the months and doesn’t like what he sees
plastic and rubber hammers keep falling from the sky
he counts backwards and reaches sixteen,
the year of the concrete moth
what he wrote that year was,
he wanted to be free
what he spelt that year were words that only he understood
what he wrote that year was line after line of misery and love
sharp jagged points of hope fell to the ceiling
as he clung to the chandelier
friends, co-workers, shopkeepers, bus drivers and dreamers threw broken mirrors at his feet
the feeling in the dream, was
too close for comfort
untitled people with no faces masked his dreams
their noses had no nostrils,
their ears smoothed over
and eyes pitch black
round little balls.
mysteriously that was the month he cured his own cancers
they dropped off like marbles from a rooftop, shattering on impact, cutting the feet of shoeless strangers.



Quinton Farrow is the writer and poet behind Erato Poetry, from Tasmania, Australia. Quinton challenges the structure and style of the poem; coupled with his satirist, humorous and dark prose. One to follow!

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