Saturday, 4 March 2017
Marianne
Why say I'm not part of you,
my insides heave,
home is a distant slew,
waves of listless drummers,
pad dream like at my feet,
bad echoes from the sun,
you don't need a clue,
to particularly receive,
your own dread news,
or if there are troubles,
that morbid fools greet,
with memories of love,
faces crash out a tattoo,
mascara runs lemon streaked,
the sea is cobalt blue,
nothing stays perfumed,
alone by the beach,
i shrug at the view,
'you're history' gulls screech.
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