Days of monotony were really not so bad then

 

what you never had you don’t miss

Out on the big swirling peninsular

Swollen tide bursts, silent barns rusted paint tins

Poorly supported yachts

Wintering on land.

Ploughing the dry mud with sullen boots

Looking for some action but

Mainly the horizon

Noticing grey shards of rain clouds

Blowing in.

Turn towards the extracted margarine Other

Nothing happening today apart from tarpaulin wraths 

Toasted cheese trumpet lessons count the breath

It is here that we reside washing on the line knickers

Fancy pants.

the city won't let us go under

 

it keeps clawing us back

 

dreaming of a provincial

 

pillowcase made of prescription opiates

 

and a little piece of hash

 

ah village oblivion

 

wake up smothering a coma

 

walk to shops hunched over

 

luxurious in poverty

 

oh, the dream