Treasure Island

Mark R Slaughter

A Cloudy Thought

I'm oddly old

young-mind paradox

eyes glassed
see all
play ‘Catch-a-Subject'

snapshot brain races
blowing in the words


I'm effin' old
legs last another walk
along the high street

eyes crawl flit crawl


The Leggy Girl
lashes long
accentuate the blink of blue

solid bounce of bust


knows not of me
feeling her with metaphors
notching up a fantasy
with palimpsest
and ink
deep I go


I'm youthfully old
no subcutaneous fat for Slaughter
Mark R. Slaughter's wiry arm
twisty stubborn

my psalm of life
my pen
my strange imagination
battle on

a back-street wander steals a shifty cat
death-night charcoal
he's fifteenth century lore and ghost
and eyes me up for terror target

he'll do for written thought!

on: the morrow of a day
and I meander by the water

the pond ponders
shares my recollections
captured in a unison of gliding ripples
riding o'er the mirror
like fingers lightly stroking mammary skin
a sensuous trail
to happen o'er her nipples

and in the blur
dance in grand contortions
thro' a space-time wake of swans
consumed in melancholic muse


I'm old
yet I'm at home with age
age-old age
strewn across a page
in second-rate sketches

I catch a cloudy thought
within the yin and yang of sleep
search inside my drunken face
jaundiced with the nicotine
of thigh-blessed cigars

ears closed
I droop to Thirties' blues
draw on the harp
forget the worries
let whiskers grey.

Though sparse,
The mist of mind hangs;
And yet I capture all the
Strumming chords,
Finger-picking neural play
To freshen up the brain,
Goad me think:

For once I do -!

And yet again,
I think of you!

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012

Submitted: Monday, September 24, 2012
Edited: Sunday, October 06, 2013

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