Words that I saw written on an actual door.
The man made of clay,
and an armature skeleton,
whose arm fell off,
and a ramshackle of drunk
Laurel n’ Hardys
scramble
on the floor.
They say he’s Irish,
talks about Ireland.
Either Ireland or “an island” –
drinks like an unfamiliar dog.
A well-thumbed Bible,
thrown against the wall,
frantic and important,
the most often stolen book.
Said Matthew,
“why you keep dragging me out
on walks?
My life like a pancake…”
Sad Matthew,
“I don’t care
how many
flowers, birds and animals,
which road sign brings good luck.”
The dragonflies
he imagined
gave his dislodged hand
a clover.
Traditional Ballad - Dying Slowly by Tindersticks, from the album “Can Our Love…” (2001, Beggars Banquet.) Video – Cosgrove Hall Animation Studios
Absolut’ly, couldn’t agree more. Gotta love the Irish. And that is a loverly tune to accompany your absynthe pome,
absynthe porn and islander music, haha, i loved this poem, the sound, the time, the accent, the mood. grandly written, thank you for the pleasant read. my firsst time being on this blog, a nice introduction
[...] – bookmarked by 2 members originally found by tallguy171 on 2008-08-15 NO ENTRY – BIRDS IN FLIGHT http://theorchidroom.wordpress.com/2008/07/21/no-entry-%E2%80%93-birds-in-flight/ – bookmarked by [...]