Friday, 12 November 2021

This Walk is Long (for Danielle and Liam)


This walk is long, we'll be bound, whether mapped out or

whether predetermined destiny is not your thing,


whether detail drawn or plotted through operatic soap-sop linguistics, philosophise over a portside pint and bring


music, not to be confused with what suckers call

music, but the real thing. Ain't nothing like the family knot 


tried and tied and overtired to pick out what's what when,

a strung-out four to the floor sometimes five, gives licks to 


the frontal lobe, sending us grinning in strategic wonder, to

hand in hand, stand, and stare this spinning globe.


We can take it right back, to where we started from, with

hike-blisters and disco strings, hauling each other up by the 


gigs or bins, with a flavour just right, plated to perfection, with only a sprinkle of pretention, for the feast within.

We can walk through Icelandic storms or pop-gloss or some funk from Slavia armed with tonic, for when the kapo fits, play it.

We can long at tractors in monochromic grain for 360 Slavic minutes and pick within it, wildly, fresh flowers and

grip righty, those moments when minutes are hours, knitted tightly and make considered decisions seem like 


snap, and likely wonder what the pixel point is of it all. When the smile needs a dress and laugh is an unblocked drain 


when the bairn’s face is a mess, but nevertheless, we hit the harmonic at just that moment, to make this road make sense.


With certainty, like the tissue box or the opening credits of queen’s pawn to d4, we all know what love is really for,


we are in it, and we’ll walk on evermore.



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