The Tower

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Shaken in six mill’ sieves,
for identification purposes,
not through the eye of a needle,
each remnant of life, of bone,
of those residents still there,
is trowelled, gathered, bagged,
by kneeling men and women;
detectives in the cooled tower,
still finding those, the remained.

Mike Bell Poetry

Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap. By then he should be about 85 years old and have out-gunned PD, dementia, and the end of days. Possibly. Before the floods and fires. Mike Bell is found working for money as a freelance set designer.

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