(via Vinicius Mueller)

BROTHER BONES (And The Ghosts of South Kensington)

Brother Bones 
all your tomes
with your poems 
will atone

For the holes 
that make you holy
and make shambles
of your clothes

Peter Bones 
in the alley,
pretty girls and
The Mexican Dali,
The Llama and The Priest, 

All the punks 
and their beasts
breathe in tandem
when they bunk
In the lower south-east

Brother Bones 
on the corner
by Our Spot
who may spot
a little fin,

Or a spliff 
on the ledger-lines
of mornings
on Baldwin...

Brother Bones 
on the water,
by the gram
or by the quarter,
who may dare 
to make belive...

This city
Leaves you listless
if you listen
to her breathe...

Brother Bones 
leave your qualms
by the fire
in the new
Land of Ire

For all the crannies 
and their nooks
and every breath
to tell the story
of any man
it ever took...