i
The king is in the castle, watch
him wield his sorry tankard,
Lonely drunk in a midnight
Knife fight, lord of the manor and
Toast master, slur to the crowd.
Down he goes, watch him swirl
The plughole
Licking at fat drops that
Taste like gunmetal – they
Ring with the house phone.
ii
Along the blue road I saw
White in the eye drop as
Milk pool
My face in chalk
Scraped away and years
Go by and passers by ask
Whose is the face
Worn like a dune bottom of
A boot dusty old shoe and
From their lip springs
The west wind come
To dig away I I I am
Slack jawed once a
Prized fighter now
Moulded to old fruit
Dead weight orange
With no flesh empty
Peal on the
Sea bed
