All That Remained Were Words...
( A summary...)
...(mumbling) I can hear god maced haiku chants about nearby strawberry lanes (which run) alongside the many mercenary stones that still indicate mossy unmarked graves...
Leaving the windowless corner cafe, atop last strands of closely cropped grey hair, you seem listless in redundant twisted grey/green peaky cap. Your beard is wild and your eyes sing of lost loves and addiction.
Days among these gravelly pits and cobbled streets is drunken, with 24 hour local markets all trading dealing in loose change, bottles of strong cider and park lives spent drinking, lying and dying.
You will be burned in tight verge leaving only your words -
1..2..3 You Can't Kill Me!
Digbeth, Birmingham
2025
