Swansea waves words at passing poets

 

The twenty-fifth day is long and in others souls,

A week later we enter the next chapter with

New raging goals.

 

Kissing capitalism's ass and not mine

Highway traffic moves in waves,

Or should that be it crawls like a crab

 

Marrying a woman from East Texas

She cooked Christmas pudding for dinner each night

In peanut and rum sauce

 

Pattern language, shackled light

Chegwin as Fleance weeps.

Christmas is a great time for contemplating death.

We knife our words, our children, and steal away saints.

 

The sea chants in its wake

In a drunken haze I walked

Through my pool of sick

 

A pumpkin orange sunset signals

Salvation, oblivion, eternal rest

 

Sod the pudding;

Pass the brandy!

 

If I say your name three times...

Will you think of me.