An amusement park
Yet
It’s always closed
For renovation
To him
Who else has had the pleasure
Of experiencing every single
Diversion here?
Lips frosted with pink sugar
Taste but here, how he sweeps the floor,
Tighten the bolts on the tracks,
Pour soothing sawdust on sour puddles,
And yes there is depth of value
But he sees the symphony of lights
Hear the calliope, calygpian
Music and looks at the ticket stub,
Illegible from where he’s touched it
So often
Understand there are off seasons
But where is his fried gold summer?
Knowing his place and musing
Why he’s not allowed
The run of you all
When he plays so well
So well
So
Well
My book Until She Sings is out now.
Ebook:
Until She Sings https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07XJRDND8/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_e9pLDbMJNZQ4E
Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1692105566/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_4akEDb3FTWNKR
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MB Blissett 