Saturday, 31 August 2013


it’s warm outside
nothing moves
except for the things that moved
in the past, when a tranquil breeze

hello human void
the trick
of running a film back
wards saved no one

who was not prepared to be lost
the language of theology
cheap hotel room you
could hear through the ice clear walls

haggling over price. back then I lit a cigarette
drank booze we’d shoplifted from Asda
wandered down the corridor you
were there dressed as Marie Antoinette

we walked downstairs
swigged from the bottle
watched the sky burn with snow; here
it’s warm outside

I’ve jut chucked a property magazine
into the next door neighbour’s garden
he’s a property developer he’s built the biggest house he could imagine
on a plot where three smaller houses stood

all those bedrooms /
swimming pool.
as a laugh I stubbed
the cigarette out on my left arm tell

me when this has lost your
attention it was burningly cold
your skimpy dress seemed to freeze to your willowy
body your soft purple eyes welled up with tears

I fucking love this song you said
I said I fucking love it too
you say all sorts of things
when you are in love.

the revolution will not be televised
your soft purple eyes will laugh
your skimpy dress on a warm day will flutter in a breeze from nowhere
the revolution will be cinema, montage, & all at once we’ll be happy & they’ll be in 

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