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1. The Horizont
Life roves on ever fast
in the stretched city.
Taught skin wriggling across its
underbelly whilst it remains
slight to my vertical gaze.
Life roves on ever fast
in the stretched city.
Taught skin wriggling across its
underbelly whilst it remains
slight to my vertical gaze.
We hazed cogs begrudge
the days long months
simmering, even,
along cold cooked October,
February, and June.
White-eyed spots dot
sun burnt fog,
beneath my forehead,
serenity and favour.
Vein traced prophecy
Toppling lives
melting into shaken palms,
clenched and unseen,
or else I quite can’t put my finger on it.
Toppling lives
melting into shaken palms,
clenched and unseen,
or else I quite can’t put my finger on it.
2. The Big Sink
In the big sink,
little legged rhapsody
working its way up the stairs.
Hum pink your cheeks on
copper green air in all
it’s composite parts
marrying the cusp
along a clock crossed path.
In the red corner,
jettisoning a double decked
reflection along a glass wall,
he’s gutting the cities stomachs
in the deepest old cuts,
the slow rush to love,
Still born to the touch.
Days pass.
I haven’t heard from you,
writing to me in chain mail,
irresolve on the bone,
brokered over two halves of a sandwich.
Money is out of fashion
gum blood drops leaking
little hairs down the sink.
The brewed curmudgeon
it will bleed till it doesn’t.
3. Come Comfort
How sweet sank
the half full cup
when I had a long gulp.
I only asked for a sip.
I Shouldn’t have lied I suppose.
There’s a very large man next to me on the train.
I feel comforted by his expanded stomach resting against me.
I want to lay my head on his shoulder and scruff the back of his neck
with my knuckles gently feeling his remaining dark grey hair
and the taught strings of his face mask.
He gets off in a rush.
A huge man.
Santa clause in army fatigue,
dark green,
reading the Metro and spilling over the tube seats.
I feel comforted by his expanded stomach resting against me.
I want to lay my head on his shoulder and scruff the back of his neck
with my knuckles gently feeling his remaining dark grey hair
and the taught strings of his face mask.
He gets off in a rush.
A huge man.
Santa clause in army fatigue,
dark green,
reading the Metro and spilling over the tube seats.
His cup runneth over.
\
4. Running away to Sainsbury’s
Out ran the mile
which I walked in your shoes.
You can have them back.
Phlegm the balled up gulp
in my throat, a frog,
the spitting image of
the kiss turned prince
by you could split my innards
and me still crawling on my stomach
spilled the chrysalis of wishes listless.
in my throat, a frog,
the spitting image of
the kiss turned prince
by you could split my innards
and me still crawling on my stomach
spilled the chrysalis of wishes listless.
Jog on and spit again.
Compulsion, is it always a hindrance?
Spit thought thought spit
A change! Take your change!
I can taste the difference.