The wind sighs for itself
a germane seed of an idea
is often forgotten- asleep in a garret.
Cyclical breathless words
cries bleeding magenta.
How many  chances  are  swept
only to be whittled
ever weeping to the point
where the Kingdoms that once
craved absolution are emptying.

I am anchored to thoughts of Brugge.
My gastronomical panache is set.
Walking in a medieval town is like
voyaging  to the summits,
the stillness of the morning air
comes with a sense of belief.
Rossie our  tour guide
quilts you with the  knowledge
and a  knowing boon.
Nowhere else provides such testimony.

The moonlight  fills  its scope,
grounded as we are,
we could  never  intentionally die
although  hives abide by us
their sting is not inevitable,
Are they the ghosts of honeycombe?
only having been
offered a brief nectar sauce
These fears are all inflammable,
yet speak of  the wisdom untouched
by  jealousy.

The candor of colour plays havoc
on the jaded wallpaper,
ravenous cracks in the ceiling  cry mauve pain,
tantamount to walks into woods  with unseen prying eyes.
Yellow I recall was the fixer, the foil  of the tableau.
We have all been burnt, having offered our souls into the nexus of assumed sincerity
and still become twice removed.

Gratis I'll be the  judge  and  jury.
Faye Dunaway does  it  for  me.
Her  modus  operandi is elemental,
an acting force to be reckoned with.
Meanwhile travelling  light  with  my freshly sealed  
Olympus  OM1 MD.
At  the  drop  of  a  hat, loading slow  film
captures  the prevailing waves  of ozone
Mercury in the high  seas and I  heartily
concur  with the portent of
"Call Me a  Liar"
by the Edgar Broughton Band too.
Somethings are  bound  to  offend Aphrodite these days.

He smashed  his toy gun in seventy four.
Desperation - his face soured.
The shopkeeper knew he was more than kaput
and as for missing the xmas disco ~
he world never walk under the moon of love
from that day beyond.
The bullies had ran their cause
carefully formulating the groundswell.
Who were they his enduring question?

.

She became brazen
or so he thought,
having come home with Monday's rain,
so he forgave her.
She thought out aloud
Stoke and pottery classes
once the greatest of eases
but with the wherewithal -
in parenthesis to "gently nurture".