high summer

a fly comes in one door

goes out the other

 not a breath

the movement of a bee

in the lobelia 

 my late father had a last

 a fat cat

is watching

a fat pigeon

 a childhood 

that smelled of ladybirds 

trapped in a jar

 writing sad poems

in the heat of the moment

i am shivering 

 listen!

two i said two 

twice

 the sunday dogs

bite the silence that breathes me

morning clouds over

 ~~~~~~~~~~ north dock ~~~~~~~~~~

seagull shit and feathered dock-water 

~~~~~~~~ steps were taken ~~~~~

 ten thousand hands 

have polished the railings 

coming and going

 always one shite gull

slicing a sunday morning

of a salt sea sun

 there is no meaning

it’s all just the tickling 

of propensity