Flick of the Eye
Spread between sea and glue: blades a running
Through soft white meadows burnt in chilled winds sorrow.
Tomorrow a word, maybe remembered, for gritted teeth are crumbling.
Slice of a moon, sight for staggering lies.
Mean spiritted glove helping lifters, smash a track record
Run like a nose in cold dismay.
Wind snivelling: troubling stout and stinking prison key holders
To hold the stake; driven in the skull.
Mulled wine whisky drifters, barking mad sisters, training bulldogs:
To snuffle out riches.
Contempt ridden stitches sown from recycled socks
Taking the knock for crushing bricks in buckets.
A shredder; a staple diet
Quiet response to a shattered dream; story held in brief
With the captain of the slip
Tricked into believing a stocking will keep him warm
Storm ridden island awash with cadavers
The balance is broken
The irregular heart beat rattles the chest
Silence is Golden
April 29th 2016
Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright 2016