Archive for August 2015

Fun is a function I’m an F5 short of

I’m too loyal to laziness,
pyjamaed most of the time more or less,
lost in not thought but in something worse: ponderment.
And I’m still wondering why I never walked to the coast and said sorry,
cherry picked excuses from the surf
and knitted them there, right then, with a two by four into an apology,
hung it up to wet in the sea mist,
welcome home, this is it.

     You see ‘em all along this stretch,
     all half deaf and muttering to one another.
     They tie the knotted wrack around their wrists and wander in and never swim back.
     Maureen at number four says some-other ones try saving 'em by pulling them from the shore,
     but they get dragged in like leads after dogs
     on their knees,
     fumes through draughts upon a whipped up Chicago breeze
     on ice,
     slice of lemon, served sunny side sweet and just how they pictured it,
     a massacre on the beach.

One day your scales’ll break and you’ll see a naked wrist and wonder where your watch went. 

get Swimming and forget the trunks

A tide from a tongue,
yet we paddle
never swim
towards the end of sentences never said because the subject’s always so thin,
neither of us studious enough to keep up with each other’s own trains of thought,
Jesus Garcia shovelling coal onto both
saving us from ourselves.
Humane way to go there, Dude,
but thats not cool cos you didn’t ask first,
hand down,
pride for not wanting help.
And we learnt he died in a display of fireworks,
40 planned minutes down to a sketch of 30 seconds
and one obvious bang,
a lurk that rang among the chimneys for the following weeks to come,
a glum Guy Fawkes igniting mad into max,
a coked up Ravi Shankar playing sitar quicker than your mum can beat you at Singstar,
secret rehearsals when you were at school.
Stop learning and start reading,
the spool they're spinning is only part of the question,
tide from a tongue:
get swimming.