Goodbye grey complexion of London
your anxiety chewed nails re-applying mascara
behind condensation on misty eyed café window
arthritic fingers failing to grip the sleeves of a red, san serif shirt
phonemic frayed stitching the typeface of tabloid philosophy
caricatures of sex & violence letter pressed upon the Milky Way
Hera chewing a Nicorette & drinking gin
Her celestial tears glistening on periorbital puffiness.
She’s watching cholesterol sex on the Old Kent Road
chamois leather faces wiping baked bean sauce onto buttered bread
arms inked by artistic ennui – a stigmata on yesterday’s silhouette.
Outside, rain & puddles on the pavement
the gutter’s skin wounded through consumption
& buses pass by selling dreams I don’t want
& be warned! The tea was used to wash the plates
A sunny afternoon in Lithuania
gravel confetti falling from pilgrims’ fingers
Silently. Reaching to touch the landscape’s breast.
Her nipple an effigy. Jesus’ carved another selfie out of wood
or was it Joseph?
Artisan calligraphy or graffiti by tortured fingers
Summer’s watching autumn – dry fields
grass dreaming of drinking the clouds through a red straw
phonetic violence on the lips of an AK-soprano
bullets holes in velvet draped over Cyrillic scars
as cruelty transcends linguistic possibilities.
Shall we put another candle on the cake?
another day staring at a blank page
another day left wondering
about hair made from candy floss
& wanting to eat the laces on my liquorice shoes
& curing speech impediments caused by too much LSD
or should that be LCD?
If only poetry was prophetic realism
a stanza a day…