I was doing a light diy task yesterday, installing a picture hook onto a wall.

Do you like the use of the long word ‘installing’? It makes the task seem somehow more interesting and complicated than it was.

Anyway, at one stage of proceedings, I found I had accidentally composed a 575 verse.

Poetry is truly great when it makes the reader really feel and get in touch with the pure emotions of the writer, I think.

bastard! you bastard!
you utter,utter bastard!
fuckinghammer ow!

Note: There were more verses but they didn’t really fit into a syllable-defined poem format so well, and were a bit repetitive anyway, so I’ve just posted this bit.

10 thoughts on “a 575: diy

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