Wild Black Curly Hair

A mystery white boy a timepiece he may be there still on the moor a tanker broke in two spilling death on Catalonia shores so useless a striking...

He looked like a cardboard Romeo when they threw him on the slab all buttoned up with brilliantine the comb before the dance no one knew his name but...

Sickle moon hangs cockeye over the valley. Bubbling pots, sweating out sweet mists. The rosy boy poised proudly for dinner. As sunset hobo shuffles in for his piece.

Dead in the house fire. Nineteen seventy two. A girl, six years old. No remains. Today. The Father. A man of sadness, age and rheumatism, celebrates her life. Walking streets,

Walking with the tide, against an estuary wind. I step dented cans, broken bottles. Plastic bags posing as jellyfish. And I think of you, all of you. What you meant.

Even now I sometimes write them off. My Dad. My Mum. A quandary. However much I try to rage. It doesn’t seem to work. Yeah, they fuck you up. Your...