Tuesday, 20 April 2010

Bird.

Bird on the ledge said it's not Spring yet.
Dishy little madam never danced on own toes, talons exposed
and roof gutter jumps lent themselves to glides from great heights.
Slide the double glazing down on her advice, tuck in the bed sheets
Kick carnal carnage beneath that bed frame with fluff from cardigan pockets
and pencils that rolled away from love letters like they were bank robberies.
You were an accomplice, lead.
I can see it eating away at you, you look smaller every time.
Now the dust is clinging to our favourite books like unwelcome advances at office parties.
The buses are running late outside
so it doesn't matter that we should have left this town before the season landed.
Give up on our loose ends and tie your shoe laces.

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