They Put Milk in the Rain.
The things I have in my head
are of no matter to any one;
endless paranoia from the fall out
of letters; things to entice me
with the breakdown of lexicons
and fluff stuck tongue fat words.
My ears are stuffed; the ambushed prints
from unheard fingers on violins;
characters that bounce on a piano’s
hapless chin; music caught between
my teeth - pulled out in the safest
part of the porcelain; a bathroom
for my audience. Even passing seasons
are riddled incomplete; the weight
of autumn and all her minxes -
on my shoulders with each auburn nuisance;
a girl who is more vocal than I.
(I kick the leaves which were
my sisters pretending I have no
reason to
feel
as
if
my hair is turning grey too soon.)
These nauseas
of everything; quick to hurry
sentences on to the next
are of no use to anyone;
a trivia of birds to nurse
my spinning head of direction
and I remember
that they used to put milk in the rain
in the old films
just so you could see it,
a fitting thought I find
for my watery complexion.
David Blake
Sat 1st Mar 2014 01:25
This is just first-class. Brilliant.