A PLACE TO STORE SORROW
Make any sense
Alcohol makes my body sick
Sleep
In the bright resplendent day in sight of the dome
Funnelling in all eager with cash to spend
Too soon don’t go to soon
Look take it all in, it’s yours
You have found society
Walk freely in the sunshine
Give the poet a penny
“she’s a feisty one” or “our big day out in London”
What you throw to the winds becomes a cherished artefact
Clutched in a hot tight fist
Fleshy legs get their first revealing
Rosy faced and sun burning the tender parts
The Thames doesn’t care, that old predatory snake
Has an eye on the banks, one mistake and it will
Rap its coils around you and take you to its lair
Literal facts and ambiguous narrative forms fall
Short from heroic love against the odds we all battle on
No easy life for us one that’s not worth living
Our best fat friend keeps up
Hips bulging over the lips of too tight jeans
Eager with beer and/or bravado
To make this day the best imaginable or
At least memorable
Tomorrow’s sore heads will decide
And beautiful butterflies on tanned ankles
Will appear from under the morning’s wings.
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