Spinning out of control history going mad

Gunpoetry Plotters spinning music by the River of Time

drunker and drunker with each nearer step he took on the road to Manchester

A susurration of stanzas and verses skim across the rooftops of Stockport.

 

relentless ripples of summer clouds

Grim it up, brother

Grim it up, sister,

graduate from sad.

 

a driver pausing in the road waiting for the next turn

It was a poetic explosion spinning like lies covered in cuts and close to an angel’s heart.

 

Reading poetry in the shadows

The farmer still in isolation with no need for a mask, five poets on his mind, all to welcome him, through a son in another world, another time, he wouldn't see, but they would see him

Crimson clouds of deep remorse as crows scrap over wilting flowers of remembrance

taking shelter under an unclutted cloth away from sin

Sweet Tame run softly

for my wounds I must sing both loud and long

smiling on summer faces through near future speculative fiction

Four years to the sound of the ocean

And everything that went before from the previous ten years.