A walk by the river

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I can hardly speak but I will try.

It isn't often that my brain falls still, silent;

At night it's usually a ferment - mingling

Tenses, lit up, following many cul de sacs. 

Lingering is a moonlight-figure, reflected on the frost,

Gone but never lost.

On the ground,  I am suspicious of the silence

Within. Outside all is wild and the colour of blood.

If I do not talk to myself I am usually fast asleep

Maybe drunk. On a barge meandering down the river

With peals of girlish laughter echoing from the banks

Passing under metal bridges carrying ladies

With quivering parasols and men in top hats

Like well-paid actors in a film about rivers.

Men over balancing and falling into the river

One after another as if this was a deliberate

Act of suicide. Bodies splashing into the sweet scent

Of grass newly cut and just, just divine.

Forty-two years old and gloriously confused

She removes her shoes and happily remembers

That wildfires can’t be bought or sold

So, the yearning for the spring, is born again.

 

 

 

 

◄ Early morning walk

Come back and haunt me ►

Comments

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Big Sal

Fri 4th Jan 2019 23:25

Goddamn it, John. You never cease to amaze and enthrall. You truly write some of the best lines I've ever read in my life.

You must know this. It is a travesty not to.

All the best.😌

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