Threadbare

So I'm in mourning for an old pair of jeans gone through at the arse.
It doesn't have the same meaning these days, fashion urgency and profit thirst thinned denim to a speedy obsolescence, a bit like old skool butch I guess, thank fuck old skool fem still thrills to slow move zippers and bright fade blue.

Walk

"Are you convalescing dear?"
"Sort of, yes"
Hollowed out cheeks, half portion dinner requests and an inability to tolerate polite conversation gave it away to an inquisitive lakeland concierge who's seen it all.
But the chemicals is only the half of it, a broken spirit has it's own track marks.
Strange to have been in so much better health then, half kilometre walk past seagulls, swans and ice cream kiosks down at the waters edge, one stick or two? I don't remember.
Strange to feel better but be so much worse, I couldn't do that now, this is the meaning of degenerative, progressive.

Cells

Tears fall at an empty shoreline
Blue boat laps unanchored to change
No moorline loops back loosely to anywhere
Living cells map consciousness in the claws of a bird
No afterlife comfort of a place to go
Where does collective live?

Surf

Brighton didn't care about me she just stole my wallet and my phone.
I remember dressing a bumpy shoreline years ago, when surfers and tides aligned my hope.
Where did it go? I remember the route way but it wearies me now.
In the eighties, optimistic smoking and a case of greek wine blurred the problem, today it won't hide, ok close all tabs and get out of bed.

CSI Sunday

Your DNA is under my fingernails,
Sharp taste on chewed back edges,
'Willows! Get in here'!