I have this fear that I'm going to drive everyone away with this daily poem posting, but there aren't too many more to go, and I'm finding it invaluable.
This one has undergone so many changes that it bears no resemblance whatsoever to the original with the exception of the idea and the words 'jam' and 'tungsten', see photo for all the variations, if you click on it it will become big enough to make sense of.
Rather than give it to you in written form I thought, to ring the changes, I'd record it and give it as audio.
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Update: Weaver can't hear the audio properly and I can't have that, so here's the text too:
Sisyphus of the Laundry
Tungsten lit stigmata,
the fall of a ruby tear
in Eliot’s yellow fog whose circle
tightens round my throat.
A ruby tear? Hark at her!
You’re such a romantic dear
with your fancy cuffed rubber gloves
and eco friendly washing suds.
Dark, dark raspberries were crushed
and boiled in a pot with sugar
for this: miscarriage heading for the sewer
in a stream of piss; blood blister
on a smoker’s finger. Jam
on a pristine pale cream linen trouser.