Thursday, 4 October 2012

Half an hour on the Heath

Bricks that in the rain
Are stained claret red.
Cocaine powdered clouds pout
Across a chalk sky of queue-ball blue.
The wind traces it's kisses cold
Like a girlfriend's October skin.

Sparks of burned petals break
Into a flirtatious surf
From the oil-rooted
Muscles of the branches.
Magpies shoot flight-paths in the rough
Uniformed officers mapping the grasses. 

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