soft asphalt hills
breathe your way
in burgundy sleeves
frayed rusted shoefoil
of cobbled years

scatter your papers
march aniseed dreams
indent the sandstone wall
with your ha'penny smile

you, too, were a child of bones
upon the sea of bleached clay
ground saul and peter
breath of crimson lines

learning to crawl
through leather-bound walls
but getting caught
coiled on the grief
of noontide pebbles

the misery of whim
quiet dignity of nothing
gentle pride of the abyss

find cheap relief
in twelve chamber meals
lard and mushy peas in
tiled up garden rows

worn down by
the soft focus sun
passing by

call for your step daughter
sit her down
comb her hair
peel her clothes
like mandarin folds

a tar voyeurism
bored of lust
but locked in cruelty
out of old habit

admit it,
don't you want to
burn the beds
just to see whose sleeping?
to find your face,
among the retreating blisters?

a shallow water charlatan
slice off your wings
feed them to your pets,
laugh as they choke
on feathers and blood

  just like
the gulls outside,
always humming the same **** tune
for generation after generation,

yet still
they go out to sea to die