I saw the best behinds of my generation turned to sadness, vile fiel took its toll stealing the once screamed colloquialisms
Pampered and dressed from the beginning but were destined to suffer
Sleeped acquiring celestial brown eyes floating on the mouth pouch of white
Who tensed and clenched and enticed dreams of smoking naked in moonlit Paris apartments looking out over the early risers
Who were paraded on the little rocks of St Eval with no care in the world but bedtime kisses
Who perfunctorily subjected itself day in day out to dropping the kids off at the pool before meeting with the angels of hell for aerobics
Who hung out of the top of track suits wishing the world to see their performance
Who shaded themselves in boxers boxers boxers, licking the soft cotton of Mark Spencer
Who dwelled on what had passed not what was passing or about to be overtaken
And never looked forward into the future for preparation but relaxed with a sit on get sat on attitude
Who suffered for 16 hours straight with no flex from Monte Carlo to Bordeaux with the aim of becoming browned
Whose tortured cells froze, singed by the organic off grid blast from the past
Whose faces became blotched and bloodied paddled until sanity had left the oarsman and made him blind to the tortured turnstile of feeling
Whose next door neighbour had been fucked so much that all that was left was a gaping hole to boredom backalley love, small change and undesirability
Who dirtied the tools of the Greeks all those years ago, screaming for more more more but stop the war
Who were simply studied in three categories, size shape and fuckability
Who were patted in Denver, forgotten in Denver, and paddled and placed on short lists in Denver, and now Denver is remembered as the bottom city of the world but fiel still found his way there and made humans remember mite
Who hung half on half off the millennium bridge suffering from cold sticky vertigo and conjuring the courage to fly
Covered in assortments of man made almost nothingness, enticing the conundrum of is it or isn’t it there
Who phenomenised the notion of flinging the two half moons in an up and down motion
When attending the dance were corrupted by Macbeth’s weapon of choice and made to bend over because of it
Who felt the full force of the salts of the sea when the rest of the body was oblivious
Who entered the blue to turn it brown with bubbles, with drugs, with waking nightmare, no more cock and endless balls
Who became differentiated from the no mans land between she and it’s neighbour, with competitions of jabbing till the pain became too much
Who were presented in denim rolled in denim before skidding north to a 4 hour wait for the syrum of The Lord and countless needles
Dreaming to be caressed in that one window created by Fiel called opportunity before it spreads it’s wings never to be seen again
Who had one sided fights and lost every time, beaten by the cold fist of the enforcer in the plain view of Him
Who should protect who.
What horned angel turned ripe into ridden, with sagged never the new satisfactory?
Fiel! The beast Fiel! Age is just a number Fiel! believe us Fiel!
Fiel who makes the desired Unobtainable
Fiel who was given to all but is taken from all instantly!
Fiel who embodies every twig of living, every being
If you die Fiel, then we all do, but they want you to all the same!
Fiel who encompasses the monotony of monogamy and the lecherous urges of the insomniac bachelor whose charms know no boundaries. and adultery Fiel!
And screams! And burning tissue! And light hearted low bottomy!
Fiel is bottoms! Fiel is marriage! Fiel is beer, friends, family and football!
Fiel is life!