When it read Greenwich Mean Time
did ‘mean’ equate to the cruellest clock?
The centuries’ last vodka girded my throat
to the songs I never sang,
drifting lonely along the Thames
Water depth is measured by how close her
mouth is to mine at two minutes to midnight,
summer dress wreathed in yellow sun –
only the DNA of my fingerprints between
her thighs and small icebergs within glasses
were ice in the millennial bar
Across fields
five hundred bridle paths away
slept the horse she rode as a child,
shrouded in breaths of knowledge
humans will never understand
Chimes upon chimes
fireworks as grenades
Waiting to dream of
ballerinas without legs
‘Happy New Year darling’
but words died on my vodka-soaked lips
Dear R,
This has such a deep melancholy vibe. This made me reflect on the opportunities I missed from fear and all the hopeful times I thought love couldn’t been mine. I really admire the way you create images using the arts to evoke the depths of feeling. Very touching write. H🌷
Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. Excellent write with many deep layers my friend. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.
Damian
The scope that you see from is too heavy for most people to lift. Wherever you get your shotgun-spray images from, works well. Never generic. Incredible visionaries, Rob.