The Rules of Exhaustion

Write every poem
as if it were the last
you would ever write;

bleed every emotion
from your life into every
word and line;

then seal it
in a letter to yourself
to give you comfort
just before your time;

if it makes you smile
with your last breath
your work is done
and you may pass
to rest.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011 

8 thoughts on “The Rules of Exhaustion

  1. E. Black, Esq.
    Sir, I write on behalf of a young er lady of your acquaintance (not so young now, with all the electromagnetic addling of time in here, plus ‘now’ and ‘here’ are relative, you understand). Against my advice, and despite suffering increasing silliness from the radiation, she insisted on pursuing her quest to the origin of the archiverse. I could only press upon her a cartridge of tic-tacs laced with iodine. However, she kept havering (is she Welsh?) about a protective foil dress so I undertook to contact your good self. Please send soonest insothus I may forward to her at the nextest nexus.
    Trust the woodlice are well and your playing is as peerless as ever, although your much lauded “gusset-wetting hilarity” is lost on me.
    Yours faithfully, The Postmaster.
    Postscript: how I don my undergarments in the privacy of my own pigeonhole is my business.

    • Dear Miss cellaneous Welshpen.

      Thank you for your reply and your recent order of one size fits all foil dress as modelled by Winston Churchill on page 43 of our autumn winter catalogue. It will be dispensed within the next 26 years.

      The woodlice are fine if a little confused by your Welsh witticism and look forward to the day when any part of this conversation makes sense.

      I agree, what you do with your pigeons in the privacy of your own hole is none of my concern and likewise I suggest you do not dwell on the dampness in my gusset as I assure you it will end in tears.

      • Oh, what a relief! I was concerned lest you had in fact held your breath all day and your kiteoon face appeared a funny colour.
        Cunning nameplay. You’re unsettling close. It started with cellophane, but then don’t so many good times? With foil too I shan’t know where to put myself.
        They want sense? I hope you crushed that insolence out of them. You’re spoiling them.
        What do you say we stop fooling around with poor pigeons and gussets and get back to proper factory settings chickens and kites?
        PS Hope your vexation and your ellipsis have subsided.

      • I’m all out of anagrams, my Richard Stillgoe-anagramatic has finally given up the ghost and gone home, your secret Welsh identity is safe for another day.

        Name a good time that didnt begin with cellophane!

        Chickens and kites it is. No more random animal anecdotes. No more tangential tarantula ramblings, just good old fashioned chicken saddles and stringy references.

        My state of vexation is perplexing to the point of making me apoplectic but I’m sure the iodine will kick in soon.

      • Not even Timothy clayPole could bypass the cellarphane on that anagram. I shall have myself rearranged overnight. Ha.

        Just realised how close I came to accidentally ordering the Neville Chamberlain paper dress. Those catalogues codes are tricky.

        Is the saddle-string combo what is known in the business as a truss? Or have I strayed into the taboo tear-sodden tangle yet again?

        Your ‘DFM’ still intrigues me ‘BTW’; is it possibly:
        A Dance Floor Marvel
        B Dave For Mayor
        C Designers Featuring Megalomania
        D Drink-Fuelled Mime
        E Doctor of Fetishist Mouldings
        Am I warm?

        I read a piece of top advice today, it could’ve been Claire Rayner: “be more specific or I will delete you.” I hope you’re sticking to it and any curfew arrangements. I also hope you’re sticking to the manufacturer’s guidelines on those tic-tacs or you might start entertaining my drivel and then where would we be?

        There, not an animal in sight. Squeak.

      • Don’t go changing, just to please me.

        For obvious reasons the Neville Chamberlain paper dress is not taken seriously in Germany.

        I was under the impression that string and saddles were standard fayre for amorous chickens but I could be wrong.

        DFM is actually quite dull in comparison to your suggestions and I’m sure anyone who possesses one secretly wishes it stood for “E” any day of the week.

        Clare Rayner, Dorris Stokes, what a load of ectoplasm! Who needs specificity? Pah!

        Now if you will excuse me I have a tonne of tic-tacs to crush into my midnight whiskey before I put my cat, Seamus, out for the night.

        I look forward to being entertained by your good self here on the south side of the trossocks in the waking hours.

      • My minutes are also numbered, and we get fewer in a day here in Wales than you do: the chief chicken is trying yo smurfocate me with a pilliw for all my guffawsome hootings and i can,t touchtype so.,. If you’ve rnjoyed this half as much as .i have, then i’ll have to try twice a hard bext tine.

Type something here preferably in English

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