posted on January 18, 2013 at 2:26 pm
    tor wrist

tor wrist

dearest heart

the weather is so fucking warm 115 degrees

i go down to the seas

i drink coconut water and dive for sponge

summer salt from greek cliffs into pacific waters

at night in the clubs hung with lanterns

i drink black cane rum skulled like a ram

the water is so blue my darling oh its so very blue

underneath the surfers is a world of silent fishery

perch bream mackerel and snake swim in these climbs

a swirling world of bubbles and weed and sand and mouth

that night they play a record called the idyllist

i lay in my hammock listening to this music

who wrote these words and these songs…?

its so hot i am sweating all the time

my sore fore head full of ideas drip drip drip

my eyes the colour of sea blink in the searing noon day heat

the equipment becomes too hot

the whole island struggles under this merciless sun

i make notes about life about my purpose herein

holiday land with the pineapple fritters and palm sunday salad

my swimmers hanging on a line

my mask that i wear overwater

my mansuit damaged by choral arrangements

ripped by the march of indulgence

crushed by the may of maybe not

oh summer is upon em out there who asked for it

a thousand summers still they cry for more

i met a girl darling who came to my room

we listened to the idyllist in the midday blur n hum

my curtains floated over  us like a bridal shower

we listened to idyllist as we sweated in the bed

the girl skin is so brown and smooth

i stood in a cold waterfall shivering

on a plateau above the coast a silver river ran through the land

before white man arrived from over some sea

i  love the idyllist the girl say in her gentle english

oh sweet jesus oh how i love you so she sing

in my hotel room where the wind tickles the venetians

among the abstracts on the wall and the faded cushions

oh sweet jesus give me another go she sing again

we light up a joint

out on the balcony in a towel sunburnt and starblind

the idyllist plays on and on

more black cane rum more dope more stars

the night is blacker than the rum

black black black

the native girl moves like a cat in moonwhite heat

the ocean roars and crashes

the tourists drunk in a thousand clubs red faced and too much aftershave

i am isolated now

my room high on the hill

i order rice milk iced coffee

i drink cold coca leaf tea

i listen to the idyllist now

it brings it all back to me

a path through the madness implied in secrecy

dont worry about that girl i never  saw her again

she disappeared into a furious market boiling in the square

cheap sunglasses jewellery and kaftans engulfed her sleekly

everyone was singing along to african jesus

while my  still kisses lingered on her thighs

and the brutal sun blazed triumphant in vivid skies

and i  gotta call from the hotel asking me about the sand bar

i got wrecked like a pirate there last night

found myself in the arms of brazilian women with fake tans

a boyfriend took a swing at me

i staggered into idyllist nights of potential

heat hotter than i ever know

the afternoon right now finds me lazily enervated

this and that are too much to deal with

the idyllist is on somewhere behind it all

thumping lilting crooning mocking

darling i think i got heatstroke

i cant go on anymore right now

i will write again soon

love etc





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