Funereal, I

Dear Paul,

Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I heard about something terrible this week.

I don’t really have the words to describe it. Just a few minutes of music which I typed into the machine.

Will be back in touch soon.

Pol.


Dear Pol,

So sorry to hear about your disarray. I have some of my own. My Dad has gone. We weren’t really that close, but it’s still an earthquake. And the funeral was hostile. So bad I just wanted to get away from it. I tried to capture the feeling by writing only with the letters of the words ‘funereal’ and ‘I’. Hell, the letters. They don’t lie.

Hope to have brighter news soon.

Take care my friend,

Paul


Funereal, I

A neural fuel, a fine real ale.

I refuel in an ireful funeral line.

I fear a rifle in an ear.

I feel a lean relief, I, a frail flea in a urinal.

I infer an unfair finale.

Funereal, I, funereal, I near a lunar fire.

I rue a failure.

I rile, I rail in a far lane.

I rue a final nail in a fine life.

An alien era, a lie ran rife in a faerie,

in an unreal file, an unfair finale!

Funereal, I, funereal, I near a lunar fire.

Funereal, I flee a ruin.

I flee, I run. Nil-one!

I rue a failure. I flee a ruin.

Funereal, I, funereal, I…

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