Monday, 1 June 2009

MONDAY 1st JUNE 2009.

Split and spilt;
Filled up to the lip, and
Drunk like a desert dweller
Who’s been in the deep for a week,
And more relished than shelter
From a forthcoming storm.

A draught of laughter,
Is coughed into the glass
After a dozen more swallows
Exposes the marrow of new stories,
As company comes and goes
And increases the gain.

Family and familiars
Swilling from the corners
Of the bar, or the corridors
Of streets that lead to it, and who
Slump on the stoop next to
You to improve the view:

Lithe sights and witness
Statements from life’s bystanders;
Others from the mouths of clowns
Who make their placement in these
Days of mass acceptance
Sound appealing,

And yet more, until
You catch less than the floor,
And time is called before you fall,
And the landlord has to heave you
To your feet before you set
Into your seat.

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