Toe-Rag Blues by Paul Tristram

When smell & grime

become a flavour.

And shirt cuffs

start dissolving

into nonsense.

Scratching;

a fervent Master,

always needy

& just out of reach.

That water

needs re-boiling.

But there are matches

to be begged yet.

Sopping’s a feeling

and a texture.

You’ve been following

yourself around

for months now.

Through rotten tooth,

desperate claw

and derelict hovel.

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