markbousfield

A REVERIE OF THE COLD

In reverie of the cold
I feel the water soaking over my feet

those memories you stored in a box under the wardrobe

the corks from France
cocktail umbrellas from Clapham
paintings of Brighton

throw them away

let them fade into the shadows of a coastline at sunrise
riddled in the crags of stony beaches
scary monsters sit scratching their heads
with Fascism lying broken under the sand

smoked skinny
well i guess it's OK

something to get bluer
step on
tap with
rasp to

one slip of madness in sleep
willfully howling to the meta-men
the ganets of pi

long fingered

all knuckllies and joints
twisted into smiling palms
wailing kisses
both brutal and quiet
to bloodied lips

Big sur has a lot to answer for
because
now
I'm happy
I hope you're happy too