the poet was furious
with the publisher
over a missing full stop *
oh to own such fury
such certainty & fight
to release like hounds
well my anger eats itself
like the sulphur & filler
in a cheap matchstick head
a blink of flare
then a push of smoke
& moisture on the run
like the frustration tears
of a lost little boy
* the poem was a single full stop
at the bottom of an empty page
by Vsevolod Nekrasov
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