deepundergroundpoetry.com
Mother Brighton
It's February and i'm
here Mother Brighton
I already feel your purple
and blues rising to the
surface, bleeding like
no other month or
place ever could
I could never tell whether
it's instinct or coincidental,
as your arms widen knowing
i'm falling the fuck apart which
is the only metaphor my tongue
could pluck about bleeding
with a chance of violence.
It's February and i'm
here Mother Brighton
my hands slot heavy rocks
with splattered patterns in
two of my front pockets,
thinking of faces lingering
between your waves as ripples
overlap in ghostlike manner
who would fall on your rocks
without any fear of becoming
a laughingstock as I count
them back many moons ago.
It's February and i'm
here Mother Brighton
I feel this place turning
into an abandoned maze,
buildings slowly corroding
and crumbling to pieces,
piers crashing into your
unruly sea weaving in
and out infront of me
as I contemplate doing
all this sober business
with my feet dangling
on the edge of your
amusement pier.
It's February and i'm
here Mother Brighton
I still don't know after
an hour of gazing into
your grey sunglint sea,
my limbs trying to
familiarise a walk
without shame.
It's February and i'm
here Mother Brighton
I have known you since
the taste of teenager,
frolicking upon your
misshapen stones
and walking back
to the station with
tired wet sea legs
before my body began
falling sleeping splayed
out on your shores, in
endless dark rum and
bourbon fuelled fog
so catch me in your arms
while teaching my limbs
to rise walking away
from this quiet pier,
back to the station
with tired sea legs
without shame or
fear like before.
Published 6th Nov 2024
Author's Note
An old piece reworked
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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