Poetryspeak

by Ronan Murphy

The evening tilts

its blue towards me. I laze

at the café table like a strained

and overworked

simile.

 

Out-of-body words proceed.

Reflection blurs itself 

on my Evian bottle. 

A metaphor adjusts

its halo.

 

I bloodlet the language

for a few lines. And finish up

with a sentimental

or ironic

observation.