Regretful, sad, heavy. A big stone in a pocket, that I want to throw in a river. But cannot, because its something more than memory. It was a black man in the white sun. Who was,
Legs of muscle, soft cinnamon kisses. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IVX8BayOCA
I stole you from him at the college disco under a neon moon it was the crime of the century come Monday morning the bee's knees of Basildon the...
From the top of it on clear mornings like today you can see Brighton my hometown they say i'm not craving salty sea air that much just ice cream a...
I’m looking deep. Your eyes. Puffed and crowed. We sit on the step Blue plumed Silk Cut comforted. Grass marks on jeans. Your boots unpolished. Where they kicked me.
he red earth. Like baked blood, glowing behind her. Her gold freckled hands, shield the greenest eyes. Saluting the sun, as it drops. A dead weight. Flaming, in moments. Hemispheric.
A mystery white boy. A timepiece. He may be there still, on that moor. A tanker broke in two. Spilling death, on Catalonia shores. So useless. A striking fireman. Burnt to a cinder.
And there's a pink moon hanging over Waverley. Hide and seeking with a Scotched egg mist. The king of the castle has tumbled down, while dancing the Lothian twist.
The finest performance I have seen this year.
The found couple sat on the bench, holding hands. A July summer English seafront. They were amongst screeching children, feral dogs, and the smell of fresh doughnuts.
It was the night of the firefly just after an awful steaming Dixie storm in the once upon a time American town of Crystal City South Texas. And it’s...
We will last. We will see it through to the glorious never ending. We don’t flinch or as Jack Kerouac once wrote, ‘say a commonplace thing’. These...