The Bookshop Sessions #22

I can’t fight the stream. But its bright beam is holding on to a buckle I tied one loop too tight. I guess it’s only right then, that the sin of skin holds onto him. In a story no one asked for, and at last pour, it 

pours 

and pours 

Until he has no legs in ten days 

Scared away scared away 

So he stays put in a fight with the stream. 

That so desperately 

pulls 

no one

Yet I pull to long and be pulled along this path of least-ness. A wave of energy becomes a wane of enemies that all rise to the same timing.

Baddym

baddym

He beats on his belly drum that sounds the opening of a tiny passage on the bed of the river Thames. As the gate opens dirt and water fall in, and a large curving lamp emerges. A false alarm fires as the orange head catches his eye. 

It cries a droplet of blood as it’s removed from its slumber. Again forced for a friend 

to be lights ahead. So ahead the river goes, pushing clumps of dirt against the metal stand. 

Why then when I feel my hand pulled back again to the same place in a new cycle, is there no light like the fried rage of before?

Is there more or less I’ve missed? If only I knew

that it’s known to sold.

If only I knew that the smell of one kiss still burns on these old lips. So old it hinges on a frozen tongue that let the king lose its name.

In a frame that shows the world of force and poison ~ Runs on force and poison 

The voice calls out again 

Oi son 

Oi son

Well done 

You have successfully 

Died many times 

Ooooo son 

Why are you still holding on to a carcass? 

It’s of no use to you no more. It’s laying limp waiting to be planted and given back to her. Where she can nourish a new season to come. So unprick your thumb sun and let the day be done. Let the day be done…

Let

The 

Day

Be

done