Friday 8 January 2010

TIDAL WAIF.

The gift becomes attractive due to the actions of the giver,
Whilst your retinas detach themselves as you’re pulled by the
River,
And the tenant in the cavity has left the job of living,
And advertised its space to let for something more forgiving.

Appetites are offered every time you unfold the paper,
But there’s nothing in-between the lines that could be used to
Favour
Any option that’s available to enable you to face her.
Anyway the water keeps on producing possibilities to replace
Her.

Encroaching on some territory where you do not belong
Will not induce the tide to offer you remittance for what’s done,
And threatening to throw yourself in front of anyone
Will not allow your voice to raise itself above the song.

The rules of combat are collected for their cruelty and refrains,
And moving back in time to them won’t make you more
Humane,
And whilst unlikely music tries to remove the daily pain
It may implicate the memory of your most recent game.

Now the river streams from northern lands and leads to estuaries,
And in the rolling of the foam you may recognize the seeds,
And capture them in landing nets and plant them by the trees
In hope of tending some re-growth beneath your muddied
Knees.

But standing in your shoes has always defined an attitude
Long after any newfound source has lent herself to you,
So try and find some comfort in the stench before the news
Of alcove dwellers hiding in the aforementioned shoes.

Shake them out and with them flush the fallen who’ve
Conspired
To anecdote themselves with mutual friends and well known
Diehards
Whom you once considered kindred and everlasting parts
Of your greater living area, before the endgame’s start.

Lovingly remembered and renounced upon the blackboards
Of all your old unrelentingly frequented shores.
Bet you anything that you have left to lose it’s gone before
You have the chance to come again and explain your course.

You know the crowd will always lay the blame on alcohol,
Regardless of the facts at hand or foot or dug from holes;
Pitted in the faces of the poxed who never get to know
How rich it is to reap the soil a previous landlord sowed.

So fuck ‘em and forget ‘em and keep a vigil in the night,
And become the only lighthouse that is not a building site,
And tend the growth that gathers in the early morning light
Then in the afternoon join words and make the words air tight.

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