Friday, 11 February 2011


Last year, we'd all been robbed

Of our age and

We know there's no excuse in the book

For consistent punishing hangovers.

No excuse for ice cream breakfast

Or not having a wife.

No excuse for not having an excuse.

But we're out there

In replay.

Is this limbo?

Bad dogs

Sniffing trails in a toilet stalls

Denial on billboards too grand to laugh at.

Lost in half rêve

Flem caught in our throat

We go to town

On women

Hunted by others

And sniff the air.

Is this limbo?

No comments:

Post a Comment