The Poet Who Almost Was Poem by Clive Culverhouse

the life of a nearby poet was almost
lost in translation had it not been for
a probability of emoji ridden skirmish
in a late bank holiday spring. no-one
could imagine, upon crumbling desks
and dis-used ink blotters, such striking
permanence of an entire absence, and,
in a suddenness of ecstatic alliteration,
the seemingly poetic poet, who we will
call unlikely, would have simply died
a poets death among the classical drugs.
but luckily for us he's there. and there
he'll dangle, off horizons, behind ears.