Still waiting.



Trying to keep in a state of solo orgasm
and breathing words on the page,
before going out to the bonfire
and how the ticket couldn't be refunded
carrying your inspiration in an Oxfam school satchel,
that fools no one,
except Zetty who's blacked eyes have run,
then the rains came down,
smoking home grown,
for the peppermint of the lungs,
still waiting for the liberty caps of autumn.

~