of seasons
There's decadence in the pollen
Ambience in the rain
and murder in the ice of the wind
Leaves
like molten hair
hum quiet descent
crimson and syrup
colouring the poet's flame
SO NEAR... SO FAR
SO NEAR The first two weeks without Lucy was so fucking annoying The man lost his composure and was forced to let the boy in and the boy turned every moment into a potential collision because all he saw was Lucy through his new affliction Tunnel Vision and he spat the flipping dummy distinguishing boy from man He didn't have a clue since he never had a plan The fire that he held in his heart for her got hotter and brighter and he exemplified the transition from the lover to the fighter I suppose peace is for someone else It doesn't seem to occur and neither does back to life as I knew it without her her You see all was well for a fella who fell no further than small walls with clear peripherals but the area of obsession is so thick that you couldn't tap your way through the haze with the blind stick, a sat nav or all the wit I think I have I've tripped into the petrol unpredictability Kicking off at the wind just dissipates my voice and rage makes the blindness worse ...
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