Into the Walled Garden HTML version

Open topped walls, night dark, let breathing winds sigh
down and low a mongst long grown ears of grass.
Wood rests against fallen masonry, white and smooth,
shaped by long forgotten years.
Candles, planted atop wrought iron black,
flicke r c irc lets of fla me on wh ispers,
where green and gold cloth once hung bold ly.
Rings hang, rust red, embedded above
the stumbling ruins of a font.
Chains hung here, across the old spanned vaults.
A strange blend, the echoing vanity,
the creak of cheap leather,
the sound of metal on glass,
the unscrewing of absolution.
Barley sour rises to thin blue lips.
Legs stretch out, denim torn on slate incisors.
Black boots smear brown stains
fro m the toppled graveyard.
Leaning, h is head falling back,
dull brocade in one cold hand,
borrowed fro m la mp lit warmth,
he watches the phantom.
White cloth sheathes rough cut trestles.
Screw heads gleam silver
beneath a solid pine-veneered box.
Rising, saluting the stones, slurring,
he slings a cheap blend of sentiment
and self-pity at the dry stone walls.
Ra ising the bottle to the box
his legs give way and he bottoms out,
flowing viscously to his knees.
Church parade after a ll these years.
Breakfast With Audrey
Honey drips onto fingers holding bread
that soaks up the slow, golden, sweetness.
Coffee cups rattle down to the bitters
and a half eaten ome lette grows cold
in a thic k sea of to mato sauce.
Bright white c rockery catches brilliant sunlight.
In these early hours, when bars and cafes
lay dormant, at one with the boozy sloth
of happy travellers, the heat drips.