Friday, 25 March 2011

A Poem for Matthew who Cheats at Scrabble

They aren't words
They are collections of letters found in a book
But they are meaningless
They communicate nothing.
Except superiority.

And behind those
Other words.
Some telling,
Some joking,
All of them floating unteathered
From context
From meaning.
They are words
But I don't know how to read them.

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