#38. COMIN’ UP FOR AIR when you’re out at aynho junction there’s barren scrub land and a fork in the tracks
there’s a freight train a coming, distant clanking and rumbling and it’s loneliness will bring you right back
where no one resides lie sleeper-trailed litter and bags that decorate trees
rocks, insects n’ pity, approach the big city down straight detritus alleys STOP!
await instructions
alternatively arrive at private deductions
the creak
and gathering speed
conveyor belt of passing fields fences, fencing everywhere
through dirge valley
scythes m40 without a care
mile after mile of ad-hoc sprawl
not one good space amongst it all
so many houses, so many styles
the mess of lives and things compiled lace curtains confining aspirations satellite dish alleviating all frustration back yard gardens full of shit
up turned furniture, the rusted swing clothes line banners and colony bins broken panels at jaunty angles
uncut grass too much to handle always present falling shed
soggy mattress, fridge, plants unfed empty pots, more plants in rot
stand back and look at what we’ve got for all of this we work and strive
a collection of vehicles parked on the drive red herring brick, gravel or paving slabs pebble dash and down the pub god save me from this man-made grime
i just wanna set down amongst tall pines with their tufted canopy of evergreen
and trunks so bare they allow you to see the soft needle carpet and some silver birch that sea cliff-top will be my berth