eclipse Posted October 11, 2016 Share Posted October 11, 2016 Night takes of it's make up winds blow against glass unable to locate melody on the harmonica passing by. Cemetery leaves are the colour of brass, tattooed heart on my arm begins to beat. Crossing barriers throw their dice, I count three, five people on either side, the deceased dice falls forever never landing. Grass wears sleet like armour leaves depart from trees, graveyard sheds ghosts that clamor to catch this morning train. Blackbird opens his flask of sunshine singing to a slothful sun, ticket is collected, Beverley platform is empty except for a gothic girl applying her make-up. Seagull appears to be moving down an escalator carried by precision winds. Summer's pocket-watch is frosting over, fading morning moon's pocket-watch has four faces that are lost in the sky's ether. My eyes are like nets collecting images both left and right, look of sorrow on the face of the man opposite suggest he has no magic to sell, why didn't he leaves his nets in the wishing well for longer?. This train is like a wand in a journey of two halves, I locate aching distant memories that have been waiting for a ticket. We pass trees next to a pond that have had there reflections returned, did they catch the night train to arrive back on the waters?, I need a pass to join them on there next trip. Last stop is Bridlington on this primal jaunt, like being halted halfway through the transformation from man to werewolf. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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