Wind whispers in
pin thin message
Brimming with questions
Hanging in the air

Soured strand of blonde hair
final flair you will ever dare to share
sitting there, no care
captured craftily in cracked-back pink chair

Consider purpose served
Consider surplus payment well deserved
Consider unnerved servant
perturbed by watermark of fervent
Christian curve

Had you listened, observed
the things that truly matter
perhaps truly shattering spatter of blood
could have stood a while longer
But would have gone the way of
all things that stand outgunned
Outnumbered, underfunded

Snail lugging slum in shell
Slumbered well
Wakes to tell tales of hell and drama from dreams
Woodworm-ridden moonbeams
seem semi-solid, serviceable gallows

Ticket away from shallow, short-skirted
sham short-term shook-up hook-ups
all in search of self same thing
Bring in the bacon
Claim a stake in every scrap of land
standing between man and mainstream hand-outs

Bland bouts of Faustian fondlings
that stand outside the one thing I truly need
The thing now feeding on the idea that love was never there
So many years cannot count for barely more than near misses
occasional public kisses
distilled wishes glistening in fissures of a fist never balled-up

Two more sips from cold cup
Sealed-up lips abruptly plucked from sucker-punched simian
incapable of reciting a single word
unless first inferred from inferior feral felines

Forgotten lines, landmines, times long behind
Never again assert that this was not real
Never forget, I too feel
I also kneel at the alter
of genteel, faltering folk

Perhaps I spoke too soon
Perhaps I wounded a unique union
with a choosy, unusual beauty
Perhaps my duty to scrutinising self and neutering lovers from pain in process
rendered me obsessed with doing this alone
Nomad, perhaps never finding home

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