Somewhere on the M5
Around Taunton way I’d say
The morning after nothing had happened
The blue, clear blue sky
Matched the mood of release
Relief from those scattered sheets
That dripping tap
Shrinking threads and wasting washers
Now I remember
Before Bristol for sure, the afternoon before
The night when nothing happened
The grey sea mist from the estuary
Matched the mood of doubt, unknown quarry
Set up for the fall, recall the previous dishes.
That silken strap
Silken threads and tummy squashes
Now I remember
Down among the Chilterns
The evening, the actual evening, the non event
If it meant anything, It meant nothing to me
The wind drifted, the rainbow lifted
Lifted on moor and gorse
No recourse, no negotiation, a stated situation
Inclined by inclination I’m listening to Bukowski
You’re watching television, you’re watching TV
Now I remember
Some place obscure
Wasted time for sure
Sex, whore, wife, life
How would it feel to think your wife a whore
Lore would life suffice such a trice
Would the expectation stride in tight
At the fleeting sight
Of the translucent gossamer light
