So, once more, I’m using up all the half-arsed poetry I type out on my phone when making tea or waiting for public transport; (it used to be while I was waiting for drinking buddies to get back from the toilet or the bar, am I a grown-up now?) whilst I exhaust myself on trying not to listen to the little voices which tell me The Caitiff is nonsense, a piece which I have spent too long on for my meagre attention span. I’ve come close to deleting it several times, or deleting huge swathes of it, but then a single metaphor, a single simile, will jump out at me and make the whole thing better to read.

Anywho;  here’s Peel; another little thing I wrote in a couple of minutes. Enjoy!

The road goes on forever;
Liverpool, Amsterdam and Babylon!
The dead cities beneath silent seas,
and all the other things it would gaze upon.

Let us not be untrue in death, humanity,
as we were in life.
Let us not spit out our lies; saliva,
on Honesty’s glittering knife edge.

Let us not wage a silent war,
on either side of the asphalt waves;
let us trace our paths across our broken cement,
and pray that my road never leads to thee.

Let Michelangelo be forgotten,
and talked of nevermore.
Let those travelling women reveal their attitudes,
those of mothers, and queens, and whores.

And I will follow those swollen feet;
will let the black tar burn at my heel,
and refuse to look at the corpses in the sand,
with their bones on display and vultures,
digging beaks in the flesh;

they peel.

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