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The Duration is Killing Me

nothing seems lesser than dresses, blousons, bingo blossom games

duality, some girls, their minxy whirls and crochet hoo-hahs

nothing offends me less than bones, bean stalks

originality, airstrip scenarios and pick-n-mix gangsters

everything is field mice, door mice, salvaged desires

drum feats, tad poles, flags of inconvenience

this actual life with its beasts and bourbon

street pissers, the voices calling through the grates

wisdom winked before beauty belched

and I turned my back into an encyclopediatric miracle

glory, glory, I am forty

glory be, you’re forty-three

sister, sister, how I miss ya

have a cup of rosy lee

god returned to anfield with passion fruit

I shuffle like a flower, if that make’s no sense

between the bay and the con

between heaven and help

lie the killjoys: appollinaire, smoke-filled thighs, the done deal down below

ahh… so lovely, your country accent

the picnic with bluebottles and gin

the sloe dumb sun of violence

wasting time or waiting? drought-fingered

words speeding through my lights like ambulances

gold clasp with intaglio medallion

gold ring with virgin and child

gold necklace with amethysts, glass beads and a pearl

gold girdle with coins and medallions

pendulum thoughts

goats as bagpipes, pigs as hurdy-gurdys

listen, all of us live inside some form of question

remember, all of us run when we see the bend