By Sil (7th of July 2017)
Little Venice
Belongs to cyclists
And city boys
Who ping-pong their freedom away
Fake status satiety
Seek temporary safety
In money and uniform.
In the glass theatre
A vertical, potted
Gauche summer
Directs a play without words;
It moves its actors in reverse
Nature, reduced to a trimmed-back
Farce mustache
Has no scent.
We're braving the edge
Eyes, adrift
On the frogskin face
Of the water
(A prince
Left unguarded,
Unkissed even by death)
Carefully unpicking
The stories
We tell
From the ones
We don't.
Desire makes
Halfway station
Between promise and
Caution
Conspicuous barge
Painted in lurid letters
Its owners
Are water haters.
