Lo, the trumpeters give a sound
of the rump this morning,
a wind to the leg where a carp
is put into good posture.
My art is talk—
and after talk, the bed.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 2 March 1659/60.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Can’t . . . stop . . . laughing!