The Archivist

An oasis of blonde limbs and nutcracker patronage, of brawn bound dutifully upwards;

We mingle an hour with cumulus then skin ourselves with laughter at the water′s edge;

A green escapade brought soundlessly to life by willow, birch and succulent nettle

Forgetting myself afloat I turn my body over to the place where water meets sky;

Torn between 10'000 mothers the ancient fear takes hold...

Pudding soft hash and a cardboard cup of rose separate me from the endeavours of evеning

Where my grasp of you must wear an attirе of false muscle

A wild dog preens itself on a gloriously forgettable street corner;

Plastic cards caress, fluid changes

Hands and the power of white little powders compels me to sit, stay, fumble and apologise

I come undone with an Israelite on my tongue, let all doubt march deftly sideways

I am at one with my failures for a flicker and then, I am gone