The Randomness Of Beans Poem by Paul Brookes

Groups of abstracted words stitched randomly,spaced marked ticks, attached by impaled crosses, lines ruledby unruly nexus, a singular plural, filling empty spaces

spontaneity travels not well, souring like wine corked and bitter,
burning like hooch distilled roughly,causing brain miasma

the journey only goes a to b, b to a, fig five inclusive PTO, circular and distrained.
bankrupted losing my way, voicestilled, tongue stuck dumb.

disoriented in tortuous alleyways winding transverse.
toppled crossroad markers defaced.
standing in a blue furrowed field of white at a loss what to right.
the Muse, the HagiaSophia of verse or prose, packed her valise leaving by the five forty five to Olympus laughing all the way.

I hear its echo in my head.

baked beans on toast for tea I think.