Kissing on blue lips
Run your fingers through
This red horse hair
If you like
Prick you fingers on the
bristles of my coarse sailors beard
No one was born to love you
Like your mother
And she could be jiving too
So let’s have a time
I’ll swing you round the barricade
If you slip me past the judges chambers
You can’t snuggle with a
Synthesizer
You can’t slice into
A misty knee deep
New wave evening
On a
Gut stringed ukulele
All the green, yellow, gold and brown
Coming down from the Mountain.
Diving up through the Loch
A green trout wiggling
From each point of my
Sparkley triton.
Let’s dance this night back
From history
And make it the better part
Of more and more of our days
We’ll warm ourselves by the pub fire
And let the waves or worry and care
roll Back across the flat black water
Like looking through a glass table top
We’ll look down at our toes
Wiggling in the cold sauce
At the bottom of the lake
and say Goodbye
(This poem was originally recited at The Old Hairdressers on October 24, 2014 in Glasgow, Scotland)
Schwervon! 