St Ives

Sea imaging turquoise, sand scrunches street corners,after eating octopus I woke in the night dreaming of beingarrested for dodgy love affairs.Drank red wine and ate too much chocolate, wine the colourof oestrogen blood , so I woke at 2.am dehydrated andscratching for my pen.Sunny with seagulls, the child ran wild up the small hill atthe sight of so much open space, bird shit on the windowswide lying sky, so blue, so blue.More nightmares of past lives, hotel with a grey walled roomGrandma soothing me with little blue pills, it’s strange whatthe empty mind can and will do.Downalong East the cottages crowd jostling for more roomand there on the beach the artists strive to capture a tasteof the sea’s mirror.Inside me lies an empty painting waiting for a glimpse of you,I think cerulean is a colour unlike any other, I can see throughinto the life of it .Twisting the black expanse of rock, stroked with finger tips of sprayreceding to the core, vast ineptitude of sky, like a blue ceramic sugar bowlpoised above our heads.This morning the sea crashing in my head, black cymbals of decisionlovers come and go their hands entwined behind their backs, a bed of“maybes” clutching the low tide.Sand is the cradle of the sea, children run like storms, erodingbrain landscapes, leaving everything warm and sticky with theirpassing.Twenty years from plaited nape of hair to adult accusing starethey swipe me with inadequacy that I have dared to live and love;soft spoken.Latte and the scream of seagulls, weather-beaten faces and babiesin bunny suits stand against the bar of a lunchtime pub while my headbursts from admonishment