Thursday, 12 May 2011


the river pregnant with murky history
let's you into it's slipstreams and takes
you past undetonated WWII mines
tagged with random graffiti
"SEX" or
past unstoppable alcoholics who vomit
incessantly on their flickering reflections
past street kids warming around
Mother Shipton's bonfire
throwing burning kisses at whoever passes by

{who ever passes by}

past scruffy looking druids scavenging the remains
of some crumbled financial tower

{avenging a holy trumpet}

past television personalities
still undiscovered
past unlit beacons and smiling nightmen
guardians of wheels and kegs
cobblestoned shouts of trade and misery

{carbon dioxide treachery, or the sun eclipsed behind a powerful mountain top}

past the oak and the old rock that you know so well
and the sleeping giant in the blueberry patches
past suburban residencies with fake cave paintings
adorning the hallways
curtains shut tight

{cursed sights}

past the garden animals
almost returning to grass again
the moss and the heath
the last line of trees

the open sea
the fog
and the new cities
quietly building within you

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