(last weather station) Coda

[wytchcroft]

coda

And what, then what – and how many
Were the strings you pulled
To tug the kite clear
From the sky

Cutting close to the curve of the Sea



And we buried it like children
Gleeful with the privilege
Of a funeral in play

Across the waves of the radio

Singing and fluttering

The cold creeps in

To the oldest of bones

- There’s a clang from the door
- And it’s a ragged rusty sound
- Amelia’s broken a nail

A face no longer recognised
Was it ever really mine?

- She could drink herself dry

A person could go crazy between these walls
Between a fancy hotel
Between the reeling memories
Between you and me

And the last weather station

There’s not much difference

In the end.



................................

just tidied this splinter from the original improv.

Comments

[wytchcroft.livejournal.com]

thank you :))) i'm glad it was worth a perusal :) i agree about the name - and think a lot of my scribbling is actually just time travel... thanks again :))