rocket, rocket, and a ludicrous length of kitchen foil.
blast away, take off, through sullen rich skies and on to the moon…
[i have not been here recently. been here, and there, and all the way over there. i do hope you understand.]
no moon journies as yet. but soon.
the winter returned;
one cold melody precipitated on the breath of
fire-flies dancing summer through.
wake and sleep. count the lights of cars and lives
as they stroll on by. marking time the only way known
a wreck, gathered in life and limb
to teeter at water’s edge. confused
under this might of blue
why may
cloudsome weight blow by
and the words trickle
hot treacle […]
don’t ever forget
je suis un bastarde
more than i hasten to remember to forget once more
shut, shut up.
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