Col. Baldwüllz


I could drink a pint of Kentish Pip
but not while these bilious toads are massing.
Not while the vast glass boats hunker bigly
on the wavey summer banks. The good glass
beer gleams glibly and I wonder
how the Danube glows
and whether, when it does, it sleeps
or sludges or worms with mud-mad grace.
I am the river and the love, the mirror
in the lake which fatly trans and lates this
shoddy country into gentle plumes,
and average bodies into ripples of dust,
riding under wetly to meet your
gentle dreams of smokey glass.

by Col. Baldwüllz

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s