for Victoria Walker

stretch the paper around the word
and it curls
a letter
freshly typed and faced to a friend
some scroll
to read
the bloody death of me

it is me the symbol for the friend to read
boots and dark clothes
the last day of season
likened to silver or metallic
imagery not on the TV

I swear out at art
my bad mouth
without proper skills
to speak

me the symbol
before anything I can make
(the poem apart
(can you feel between the made me and what I make
the poem freshly faced
to a friend
to lay more rubble
at the feet of those that care
the bloody death of me

and the bad music falls across the atmosphere
all jamming aside
all voices of liberty
alive only to speak
for the about to be free

I set a letter
to a friend
to signal
what remains
beside the death of me