Sky. Sky. Sky. Ragged ender to pointy hook on left. Fatty darkie straight ahead. Too far up to worry a wink. Wink a little in the reflection. Like a trunk. Trunk and flaggy ears. Blue and White. Little bucket thrums. Yoke on the steady. Will we do this in 1919? New year always brings thoughts of new on new. Blue splashes out under the white raggies. Still a fat darkie up front. Hoping the fat one doesn’t sit for breakfast. Teas may be left un-attended if so. They’re all streaky and white. Left, and on the right. On the right there a bulbous one, hiding behind a streaky one.
What is down? Green. Green. Green? No white and grey this morning. The really big ones are all around. If I weren’t a brave man I’d have walked these planks. Now I sit between these fat planks. Keep your wings up. Spirits up in blue. Blue and blue and blue.
There. Some green undergrey. Tip up the Yoke. Goodbye fat darkie one, wont be seeing you soon. Thin up there and fat down here. What she would have said. She would have said that of me. Thin up there and fat down here. Gone now. Young George’s little hand. Away from this. Yoke on steady, and a blue down here too. She may have said a lot. “Blue,” she’d say if she were here. Here a splash of gold in the hair. White splash in the air. Smile like a trinket. I still have the trinket. Pearly gash across the mouth. Yoke on steady still? Still on steady. Little town. All of them are little now. Two in a boat? Yes. Quite. Two in a boat. Me and her in a boat? Maybe. Maybe. Pearly gash across the face. Face is what I meant. Little tulips to the cheeks. And-
Whats that!? Up! Up! To Blue and Blue and-
Yoke on down! And up. A tree? And-
Crumbling little spire. Looming out of nowhere. Bastard bloody feet, turned like tails and-
A fall to string?! Wrestle me out of this mortar bond! I will I-
A fall?! Blue above and lost to the hall-
Pearly gash across the face.
