Morpeth Bay


Lonely Morpeth Bay singing wolf cry to the sad mad moon of daytime concealed in the sunlight and endless blue bathing in watery warmth trembling memory in the stomach gassing the brain on Sundays before the work week begins again signalling the end of the beginning of another end repeating misandric miss misunderstanding jaunty grass on my black jeans pens prickling my fingers searching pockets ink leaking to navy my skin in the name of the sea and the darkling skies where the water divides the horizon and colours violets for sailors’ sparkling sky flowers dreaming of the simplicity of feeling and wonder striking half-thoughts sipped through the sieve of the mind drizzled through consciousness lying on a greenish knoll over Morpeth Bay in my wild-eyed brain.
Cry to me squashed daylight moon I will lick your dripping tears quivering moisture and wriggle in the plants growing bright in the sun drying silky skin brown burnt unprotected needing water needing feeling before the lengthy hours later of slow peeling wretched bit of body so unpleasant not to scratch cry pain cry liquids cry moaning dusk redding through the hot night in sweaty beds devoid cold suffocation heat dripping taps screaming heads hiding in pillows trembling at the encroaching morning desperate to bathe in salt in Morpeth Bay.
Curdling richling death suckling red rabid roasting fat fire licking swathes of flesh off the bones burning killed boiling bloods spilling sad angry pig protest destructions away from Morpeth Bay.

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