Requited, as a Pigeon Does

Too loud in this town,

that holds a gold crown it's foamy thunder-head.

A spinning halo spanning the stout skyline;


Five fingers deep in the North Sea I plunge.

As it soaks my seaweed seemed gloves,

foreignly wired eyes spark ill-interest on my absurd ways.

The wild pidgeons here tweet that I harbour street cred

while their iridescent necks bob back and forth

Their requite liquidates from their bodies of rusted brown to the morse code beneath my bode toe.

Expanded feathers; Exposed.

Human waste lines the streets of Düsseldorf.

I jump hop-scotch along the pavement, avoiding the rain-sogged dissolving-stool spreading beneath me.

Along this path I catch waves of incoherent shit-talk

from clefted queens and long altared ancestral genes.

I grab hold of the North Sea for the last time.

As it soaks my seaweed seeming gloves,

small pin-holes open at my fingertips,

finger-gunned, I breathe in soultry smog from land-bound clog homes.

Comments 0