Make Me Smile Like I Forgot How To

February. High n’ Wild n’ Free.

Dagdadrunk. Angled on sofas, penned in. Gormenghast gone, graceless. Egypt sends postcards. The rocker reeks of piss and leafmould. Suddenly everyone’s interested. If Not Duffers, Won’t Drown.

(Q. Who would win the swimming race, the chimp or the kangaroo?)

We’re gonna to build something this summer. The gang’s all here. Soup Wednesday will continue with grim determination. The Life and Times of Reginald Perrin vs The Gary Glitter Gangshow & a yellow paisley tie. Stick a bow on it. He has no sense of smell.

Cold feet and the Magic Carpet (Ottoman Pattern) ripped out from under you. Cowards. Nearly give up. Sobriety February.

Blindsided. Completely, helplessly blindsided from behind the Heineken tap. Cheating on my people.  Blue eyes. Just one shirt. Brautigan, Blind Poetics, bullshit. Eyes over shoulders.Tramping tramping tramping, wearing through my boots, from bar to Banshee to bar to boots to bins to boots to bar. Climb on the roof of Waitrose at 3am. Bread and apples and roses. A trail of apples, carefully placed, evenly spaced. Take me home. Take me home. Take me home.

(…why are you drunk again?…)

Maybe at some point we forgot to be kind.

Kiss me again if you want, I don’t mind…Abandon all pretence. Streets. Streets. Streets.  Feed me. Valentine me. Grab me. Kiss me. Love me. Leave me. Make me smile like I forgot how to. Don’t leave me. Stay.

Nelson Mandela’s Disco Primer. Your life is a work of art. Much fucking. Confused. Confused. Confused.

(…why are you drunk again?…)

One glance of THEM at the top of Broughton St, under the lights of the Conan Doyle. Hands linked. Not yet. Not ever. You have your red and black felt coat, drama collar. And your legs are spectacular.

Dharmic Angels = scribbling, finally. Winkle out the idea, let it fall, catch it, fall and catch. Distill till pure.

…my love, I know you cannot swim…

(…why are we drunk again?…)


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