Pots & Pans and the Last Romantics
By Michael Valentine
Sat, 28 Mar 2015
- 908 reads
2 comments
Pots & Pans and The Last Romantics
The poetic acid raindrops kicked the arse of the last romantics
My hands, bloody, in bursts of abuse, swirling in powder parcel daydreams, emphatic
Where the tears on the glass in the kitchen sink
Showed the face of the resurrector on the aniseed rotten brink
It’s only pots and pans and the last romantics
With a flask of weak tea, I fell for another Honeyballer this morning
And shot 500 vignettes of the river running, dirty, through the town we were born in
I watched the cygnets rolling gently as rocks and rain poured down
Until Mother Swan Superior swooped with venom, property of the Crown
It’s only pots and pans and Honeyballers in the morning
Corner-cut, medium weight, raspberry flavour papers
Pipe-bombs clash with pipe-dreams and give them a right pasting
Absent friends, whom I toast, I know you’re still brassed off
Absent friends, I wish you were here even if you don’t
Have my splatter patterns, my death discs and Karma Sutra books
Take my rifle, topple my gravestone and unlace my cement stained work-boots
But a stone through your window or a red rose at your front door
In the end, what can I say?
They mean the same thing, I hope you know
Bedways is rightways but my mind is on a sinkful of dirty dishes
La feé vérde dims the stars at night and I make three diamond dust wishes
On the tarmac the twilight twirls and illuminates my cracked disco
It matters little, in the moonlight, that your cherry cider kisses taste fickle
It’s only pots and pans and diamond dust wishes
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Comments
I liked this. Lots in it I
I liked this. Lots in it I thought.
Surprised no comments from anyone?
"...I fell for another Honeyballer this morning..." I have a thing for women playing footie
torscot
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