Tempers edge the need
for your anvil head to break.

The way back from work saw
Lowry people scrape the pavement.
Dog-leg drags of shuffle, of make-up slide,
mixing flea-skin sweat with pollen rub
into a tincture of stench.

This is image that I do not want

I have
half a mind to **** but I
cannot be bothered, the other ,a
a monologue of delirious ramblings
some" French kings versus
squadron mottos" thing...
and , in truth, I am not sure what
it's going on about.

I am indoors, windows open, curtains closed
naked from the waist down, feeding the freedom
of sprawl- but this is mistake of gargantuan order
a cosmic, foolish, schoolboy- error of judgement.

The sofa is leather.

My scar tangled manners are reports of my standing
an amateur tanners spewed stew of expletives.
In a half-arsed way it seems  
I am to remain

part of the furniture

I search for shorts.. long shorts, short longs, whatever,
my legs and **** seek the solace of cloth.

On the canal a coot needs oiling
what feels like 20 minutes of incessant jar is
tapping with my rationale
Testing my love for all things feathered.

Something needs to give.

I am a Gobi taste of sandal straps and
in dire need of irrigation/ rehydration
I have waited way too long for liquid...
Don't get me wrong, this isn't some test
of deprivation- this is heat swung laziness
that is all it is..nothing more
nothing less..

And so..

We will get it tonight
You cannot pull isobars this far apart to
not have them break..
And that ogrish flat-top is thugging
the harbour side rents..

Ah yes...

"Après moi le deluge"

Seems to make sense, now