Seasons.

SEASONS.

Autumn First Fervour.

Colours and altered states,
She remembers,
From Autumn mornings in the park,
Alone with scarf and gloves,
Passing puddles,
Bitten by the cold air,
The last tune she played looping round her head,
Mixing with the smell of coffee and Polo on her steamy breath.

Spring. Pissing out the fire.

Early morning dew,
Sparkling in the sunshine.
He took the tent down and called the dog.

Looking down,
The city lights go out before him,
Through the rosy spring haze,
Finishing their work for the night,
As he picks up his stick,
After pissing on the fire.

Back to having to talk to people,
Back to the effort of being polite,
Back to not hearing that noise,
Of sizzling delight,
Of pissing out the fire,
Or the river in the night.

Winter: From the Hospital to the Car Park.

Old Jim in the past,
Walks with a stick,
And a tap, tap, tap,
Hears God in the rhythm,
Which drowns out the crap.

Subtle words,
Soft timbre,
Explained and apologised,
For the agonising inevitable.

Hocca-tokka with his tongue,
As he taps taps out.

The erratic symphony,
Subliminally sinks with his heart,
While the straying beat sticks,
And familiar allows,
Pleasure pads forth,
And repitition
- overlays another time-signature.
- overlays another time-signature.

Outside exists Man,
With the drum of profanity,
In a Ford with a spoiler,
And a cloud of insanity.

Kendo in the present,
What the fuck was he doing anyway,
Rapping on the glass,
With his big fucking stick.

If I ever see you again,
You fucker,
I’m going to kill you,
Or say the fucking things,
I should have fucking said,
That will keep you up at night,
And proper fuck your head.

Summer Came and Went.

Summer came and went,
Largely without event.