All entries for Thursday 19 November 2009

November 19, 2009

How I Spent My Summer, 2001


Spindled fingers fission the skyline,
stretching thin their cluttered web over
startled clouds. We Shiver speckled praise.

Old lovers sit in lust, yearning for
the tree to envelop their crippling,
curling passion with its ink-pool wings,

like it gorged on the bones of the bird,
bracing its better break, in a
strung-out attempt to cure rank romance

Of the malady called fuck. We comfort
The clasp. We monitor heat. We know
When lark littered love is complete.

My brother fled over the river.
I saw his shadow wain soft
Through the mottled glaze of my window.

Patches of Iron heather
strangled my attention away
from his garroted gait.

Only tree. My brother fled.
The stench of age hung
strange on its matted branches.

The river and the bark
mould love on the bank.
We cull romance.

My brother fled, and I followed.
The tree stretched my
blue dungarees.

The branch twists me.
Still. The branch twists.
Oh, and I fled

over the river, to
the hovering rope swing.
To the spindled branch,

swinging soft on the pink
rope. It rests, taut, around
my view of the stars.

The clouds fled, and I followed.

I cannot taste the moon.

November 2009

Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su
Oct |  Today  | Dec
2 3 4 5 6 7 8
9 10 11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20 21 22
23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Search this blog


Most recent comments

  • Cool for cats. Not so much for dogs. by Inhelm on this entry
  • Are you waiting for the ombudsman? by Inhelm on this entry
  • Indeed. I don't need a parachute Baby if I've got you I don't need a parachute Not at all, if you ca… by Inhelm on this entry
  • I watched "The Undercover Princesses" on playback TV and found it quite entertaining. The princesses… by Sue on this entry
  • I knew you'd disagree, William Grove. Sometimes I feel like your vehicle and it's not an Aston Marti… by Sue on this entry

Blog archive

Not signed in
Sign in

Powered by BlogBuilder