Absolutely Miles Away …too many clouds, too little time…

Too Sticky : 4

flounderstream

we do not always speak in ways which make waves,
the slightest lilting lick of brightlight tunnel embeds between bricks
a mortar morticelock creating caverns
where we slip away at evensong amidst
underfoot rivers
securing the looks which chide to locked chains
momentarily lost whilst gazing in other gulleys
same-weathered, waterforced, chipped and scored
scuppering similarities, somehow.

crests fall, and troughs rise.
day sleeps, and nights hide.

postcard from hell

succumbing to the inner wordjunkie can sometimes be a very bad thing.

make sure you are amongst the very best chintz. Accompanied with shoulderpads and babycham.

so i’d write you a song with those words that you stole
from the lady below who writes lines of them whole
dispensing at random a thought from the past
of life, death and spirit held through to the last
and the times that you give, and the nothing you take
as foundations of stone simply crumble and break…

to know that i can’t flutter money
the clouds cannot chink from above
i’ll glue words dripping with honey
and pack each one onward with

[insert name of your favourite disease here]

Wished and Greywashed

impossible to view the colours just now.  wait for the moonshine to dapple the sky with seas of vast texture, and the land below with greys…

hark back to the colder, cooler, winter days.