Charlie Six

Charlie Six;

button to the flea-hole.

park bench or trench it matters jot

the scribbles count as nothing to the dust;

no soft retreat to the red meat of saliva

dripping safe it's candle waxed as blood;

Black Watch alive now kicking through a stream.

Epsom now a stop-watch for the turning age of man.

journey long the feathers of the Crown,

two hands down, still the cockroach drills 

his spills of war. his bullets to the grave,

his crave of yarn three inches from the Rook as thin as grass;

green envy now the passing jealousy;

who lives so shall I die as horses tongue of elegy?

the rotting winds of Autumn plague the circles of my scalp.

she loves me not; the maid of hapless tundra now the cabbage of a King!

who knows what when Leopard spots the curse as bored as Spring?

Owen and the May Queen,

each rooted to the steps of shepherds chalk;

my idle hands now twitching with their infant leprosy;

how I envy now the migrants and the cheese.

blue veined with knees more wounded than a heroes hidden breath;

time past but still I soldier through

the thousand chimes that suckle on a death;

simmer cold the twisting tail of man.

Antaeas antlers broader than the word.

dressed now as breakfast poached as ill afford; 

the sponge of love; an earthquake for my son;

this day begun.

the shouting and the river to my lung;

this day begun.

I guess like any other;