To surf and skate (on by) by quirk and fate Despair finds me with stiff dignity, ornate Counting on credit, calories, fuel and hate to feed the furnace of my radiant Ziggurat - menacing accumulations at my gates; I balance this time on an out-of-place scooter I am transformed: Queen Yamazuma.
Wheelie, kickflip, gybe and pirouette like troops spun and shredded by flechettes after whisky, camaraderie and cigarettes; boys I knew as a student, placing bets with whom I shared porn and rap cassettes: A marked card then shuffled to Benbec.
An outlook near Thurso, torrential rain and a four-by-four to see Skaw again. A Sergeant at Scarborough, a disappointment and dud. A stringalong at Shoeburyness who performed Soho pubs. A tumult of symbols to bind with the blood. Twinks known at halfpipes, exhaustion complete near seals and skerries that cry out for peace; the Burning of the Clavie, beseeched! Viking Bay’s hooden horses, an Avro Vulcan, police.
Portishead Lido - diving boards, proud; Peer Gynt at the Minack, drama redounds Bleaker Island’s gentoos: gentle, profound. Small beginnings, a windsurf when summer left late where carp bask in shallows in Mercer’s Lake.
With composure it’s time to review and dissect the decomposing past and events as yet to test my mettle. Ordinary concerns like bills and vandals and mail unsent and propulsive alienation, bent this pagan emissary of Sulis Minerva, who bathed at Rudas on pilgrimage to Gül Baba.
Memories left on distant shores of persons immaterial, dissolved; taken by tide and native insularity. thoughts mumble and slowly drift. Break the pen and walk away Let poem run to cliché; run heedless and cartwheel on the sand, fresh faced, exuberant; alive, okay.