and the wintering of my soul
becomes sunblind
to the unkindest of snows
- she, my daughter, turns to the woman
I once knew;
can this month of moths
and flashings against the rage
of sun and moon; alike
both pull the tides
that roar into the night
of my veins?
I have grown; blind
to my existing thoughts
of what is left,
yet I journey
on and on
with fading eyes,
aching in those places
where pleasure was once a trip,
and self worth itched like
a whore on Tib Street
on a Saturday night.
They're renovating the Band on the Wall
where cherries were taken
and music lifted the roof
of the Northern Quarter
- in fact
I think Angeline might have borne
there; in the heat of Dillinger's
"I got cocaine, floating around my brain"
A knife, a cork and some other things,
mumble a melody
as the hammer falls,
then the scaffolding strikes a pose.
And I swore I saw Angeline
leaning against the ornate ironworks
to Swann Buildings.
It's 3am and the slickblack streets
squirm to the rise of this city
coughing its way
to dawn.
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thanks
Dammmnnn, Gill. From this one sentence onward to the last, just...dammmnnn. 
I was properly provoked. 
