sunday 4.45am.
may.
dawn black cracks into dusty whites.
elvis sings out kitchen radio soppy love song prob
harmonising with the jordanairres.
and
done
by anyone else
it
would
be
trivial/light/dated/quaint/ridiculous/waste of time
but
its
elvis fresh beautiful timeless kitchen a church now.
fence behind
the apple tree thats tied with grey vine
creaks like a horror movie/like a shadow monster
outside
my
church
of
elvis at dawn.evening now and thats the only thing that blasted its way thru my thick system/round my blinkers and burns.
the only thing
in
a
four day weekend
that
shone
with
real life
and a mad smack of insight.
happy at least one pome came.
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