“You got silent eyes,”
I said.
“Silent as dolls.”
“That doesn’t make sense,”
she said
and sucked away on her Marlboro light.
“The best things
don’t make sense,”
I explained.
And she smiled
but then clenched that once pretty face into a fist
and called me a Prick.
I wrote this
on the picnic table
as she left, sucking and clenching away.
Then
I felt
much better.
Born and raised and schooled in the beautifully mad badlands surrounding Skipton, North Yorkshire, Mal now calls East Sussex his home.
He and Mabel the Unstable Labrador are more often than not wandering the South Downs and coastal walkways and scribbling and sketching constantly about everyday life and nature and madcap streams of surf-smash consciousness. Guitar-based songs and lyrics and amplified dreams forever in tow.
Poetry, short stories, mad rhymes and novels on the way, probably under the new pen-name M E Lee, as life is mainly chaos and a melee is never far away now is it ?
@saxpep on X (Twitter)
