Making It Up

A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

You call for the poets to come
and wrestle the violet cucumber
the arcane torch with a voice
the deadly growing cape with
a garrote to tie it round the neck
The microphone
already belongs to you
your show, showing
the blood that is on your mouth
at the end of every night
Scoffing at what passes for the relics
insisting that copper and gold
should be mixed
that pebbles have a return like silver
And you’re making this up
the…