Poem: Acetone

Bottle of Glen Grant – single malt. As he sat trapped forever writing not much

too often.

In his room once again –

this time a Saturday night right at the start -

ready to take on the world.

But that “skinny motherfucker with the high voice” is gone.

Gone.

Gone.

And if the world isn’t different as a result of just that

well

then

everything feels just a little bit …