A Ballad Here On Wapping Wharf

Upon the breeze, life’s sounds did sail; the people pottered past.

Milk Stout

Mapped o’er.

As with those others, I’ll not help you.

The sunfire breaks the emptied cloud to strike upon the waters.

The footfall flux meanders.

The Trow’s resuscitated – see the blackwhite gable draped along in hanging baskets.

The searsome sun seethes heathaze.

Gilt African.

The rails run.

Pigeon plays his puff-chest charm.

I write; I drink; I’m passed through.

Sing silence from the unstaged page, the rhythm riv’ring through.

“More to see! The child who eats the twisting treat; the gull who rides the unseen surf.”

Breeze breaks in laughter loosed; kuhllainkkinkcnk sothairyugoe! hahihihihihuh hyeh-uh?!

Clouds cling – fast.