Woke
up and found a drawing of a dockyard on my neck,
I
could still feel the pressure where someone had etched it onto my
skin.
I
craned and strained and cricked and hiked my neck in front of the
mirror,
I
could just make out the lobster pots.
I
asked my girlfriend to tell me more about it,
She
told me it was dull and looked like shit.
I
reminded her of the butterfly tattooed on her ankle,
She
gave our relationship a month.
Ageing
tyres dressed in slimy green gowns,
Prevent
my prow from hitting the sides.
Rusty
ladders with far too few rungs,
Allow
me to clamber up into the dry.
Is
this dockyard in my mind? Is it Ramsgate in August?
Was
it sketched on my neck as a sign?
I
can't read all of it yet but I know there's a dry dock,
I
wonder if that's where timber is allowed to dream?
Woke
up and found a drawing of a playground on my neck...
Got
arrested.
No comments:
Post a Comment