U is for Upcycle these ‘useless’ remnants of textile into
my one wrap against the elements; these unused sunbeaten bricks and felled
timber into my dwelling under constellations; these unusual tear-outs of
encyclopedia into bird sculptures of eternal life; these uprooted weed-flowers
into a bouquet for the defenders of the Earth. V is for Vanity of internet
vacuum I apply to for my self-belief; of victory speech teleprompted to a
sociopath I sickened of long ago; of valueless celebrity vanishing like a
siesta dream; of this slim volume of invincible sayings and February fables,
torn up discarded by the roadside.
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