Parched At The Wellspring

Bruce McRae

I’m looking for a door or a
perfect sentence,

for a button dropped, a rose in
the loam,

for the source of a spring named

This is me peddling, like a bug
on its back.

I’ve drawn a circle around the
wide unknown,

a student paying homage to his

A fountain pen, if not the

It’s a warm night, unnecessarily

The Ancient Watchmaker claims
it’s midnight.

This is Nowhere, and there’s no
reason to be here.

Sleepwalkers in the afternoon, we
require reason.

We crease easily. Our hands are

This is me in a hayfield, chewing
a straw stalk,

gnawing on the sublimely

another inbred clodhopper, the
King of Mutton.

A letter arrives. And like it, we
are torn open.

For a while we read by an ancient

a link among the unexceptional

An extra comma in the illegible

Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician, is a Pushcart nominee with over

a thousand poems published internationally in magazines such as
Poetry, Rattle and the North American Review. His latest book out now,
‘An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy’ is available on Amazon and through Cawing
Crow Press. His poems on video can be viewed on YouTube’s

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