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Old Italia

We travelled back to old Italia
wearing borrowed shoes and a ten gallon hat
tipped the driver for driving all night
through the driving rain
Oh - it poured alright
like some almighty flood
like the sensible said it would
whilst the trivial were heeded
All this, will, with time pass
and so at last we succeeded
in reaching our two bit lakeside dive
with a lights-off-clock-chime night
through this wine rinsed state
to the massless dawn,
giving grace to each others warm.
 
The coffee of kings and the weather of sins
frees the toothless, kind eyed types
for stories mimed out, of necessity
and mined from the mind’s last retreat
Stories of bears returned in mountains
looking desperately lost in the mist
Stories of twelve chances with childhood love
twelve re-coats on the warped shutter Prince
a window on the world where the
lightening strike of children
blurs with each generation
rhyming the cracks in the pavement
until tired feet no longer hop
and stop, for the monsters to climb
and savour the rest of time

(2015)

Went to a back corner of Italy recently. It poured with rain and smelt of stories. Beautiful.

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