Poem: You can’t write that

I’ve been checking and there’s some things 
that you’re not allowed to write about anymore. 
Some of them are listed but you can let me know 
what to add to this list in the comments below. 

For instance, don’t tell me about 
the crone finger crescent fists of waves 
silver and gold in the sunlight 
crashing down on glittered beaches. 

You also mustn’t tell me about 
the bobbing boat rocking further out into the bay, 
worn men heaving worn nets, 
their knees anticipating the swell, so well. 

I also can’t read about the eruption of spring’s clouds 
bouncing the shine from leave to petal 
before parting and coating the film of my eyes, 
and over exposing everything against my skin. 

We shouldn’t spend any time on the grit of the city’s street 
or the smoothness of its metropole people 
the rumbling of industry and expectation 
and certainly not the leering neon of its night time. 

It might be safer not to mention anything like a musical note 
getting stuck beneath the collar of your shirt, 
a drum beating deep in your gut 
or a double-bass’s boom dripping from your eyes. 

All of these things, you see, were much described before. 
So now there are no more lines to be had 
everything we write must be new, be it good or bad. 
Tell me then, of what else can we not write anymore? 

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