flat.fish.flesh

Since I have built myself a hidden jail,
tall sided room of shade, of lived out lust,
cemented every keyhole, jammed each door,
so shield my auld not passing love, I must.

Not covered out of fear or shame or doubt
but guarded from the bleaching of the clock,
is this pristine collection of a life
that gains protection here behind this lock.

A cage to capture that which passes on
and gag a calling voice least it should break,
that drains an earthly sun before it rains
its rays upon the memory you make.

Fine trove that keeps you here and lasting on
yet truth be told, the treasure, it has gone.

Today we aimed to gain a kingdom wild,
tall stack that towers above the rolling surf.
We climbed up hill and rock of green soaked isle,
a honey scented world of flower and earth.

Above some gulls cried high and circled low.
‘Unruffle please this world, you city boys.
This life of cloud is ours. Be gone. Yes, go!
Fine feathered lords rule here. We are not toys.’

Scrambling on and up to hidden peak,
our visit was to honour that steep land.
Doing battle with both wing and beak,
their stares were there to scare us back to sand.

We left them to their cliffs and rugged nests
and glad of our retreat, us urban pests.

Scatter bruise blue needle kisses
all across your arse and elbows.
Crumble eager hot caresses
into waiting rizla papers.
Toking your intoxicating
embers into my old sinew.
Tooting up quick lines of love dust.
Is this that or really just lust?

That’s such a gaping grin,
I thought as he Hello’d.
Afronting perfect beauty,
right slap bang in my face.

His tongue played with the space,
he relished so the lack,
which fills him full of loss,
that he does not want back.

He’ll wear it as a badge
and never have it filled
but always want to keep
a memory of it’s past.

I wondered how it went.
What fight or fall or ball?
Which day or night or dawn?
That hole between his teeth.

Pink and green
are the colours of the queen.
Nothing in-between.
Always make me beam.

Crimson is a crime,
not to mention lime.
Feel it all the time.
Wish that you were mine.

Jaune thinks of Jean,
gambling so mean.
Never one to dream.
Keeps it loose and lean.

Yellow’s oh so hollow.
Beige I cannot follow.
Ignorant tomorrow’s
a thing I’ll never swallow.

Crushing, blushing blue’s
my colour just for you.
Keep it close and new.
Share it with a few.

You ain’t gonna find love like that,
by looking in the wrong places.
Damp and horrid morning slowly
aches for unknown faces.

Skirting flooded city gutter
full to brim with suited gent,
all ground down to gritty grime that
merges into grey pavement.

One tree in the fields came right down in a storm.
We clambered all over it’s face and it’s form.
Laid up on it’s end for an age with the cows
and all of us kids hanging down from it’s boughs.

A hide out or castle, a fort for the boys,
shelter from rainy days playing with toys.
This relic descending to dirt and to dust.
Another place distant, out of reach, just.

A temple divine where we’d gather and play
but then parts got sawn up and carted away.
Throughout all of this it continued to grow,
to push out some green leaf that falls with the snow.

So slowly it turned into table or chair
to be cherished and coverted equally where
memory minds you of long ago town
or places much deeper and further on down.

‘Course later came fire and destroyed it to death
that allowed it to drift into river and breath.
Mineral forms each pervading the loam,
root becomes shoot beneath shining blue dome.

He’s doing that big booty, skinny leg and hoping, goose step, in deliberately provocative straight lines, too & fro, right there in front of this bench. Damn annoying in this cold weather.

I have finally found a thing I can’t find
& I’ve sought high and low for stuff of it’s kind.
Went searching for summer, discovered it fine,
and I bump into rock stars, film Gods, all the time.

So it must’ve been fantasy thought that I had
that made me trust our town would give all it had,
for they are too fancy to palm from the start
because London folk never took them to heart.

A plucking of the human chord
is tinted by one hundred tones,
each rung out by another strummer’s
picking on the playful bones.

Winter winks at night, it follows
drums well beaten into pathway,
grabs the chance to lead one wayward.
Tempting taunts, can’t turn away.

Skins get rhythm from the down beat,
beat the syncopating dance beat,
beat the world between each footstep fall
and every coming heart break.

Smile condenses on cold lenses,
wipes the window free from frosted
glance that taints this evening’s glasses.
Honeyed hints hurry, heeded.

See the season’s city shining.
Stretch yourself out from today.
A light alight will slowly smolder.
Let some lyric line the way.