Walking to work this morning. Mood: poetic…
I love this city like the back of my hand
Tattoed your name there when I was young
and
I travelled each artery
Down to capillaries
Lions Are Drinking in tides of my blood
Walking to work this morning. Mood: poetic…
I love this city like the back of my hand
Tattoed your name there when I was young
and
I travelled each artery
Down to capillaries
Lions Are Drinking in tides of my blood
Dan, that’s lovely. The image of you walking to work thinking of a poem in London makes me miss you. Cos I’m in Sheffield. I like London too; the buzz.
Currently listening to Lydia Lunch & Thurston Moore: ‘Drowned in Limbo’.
J
Cheers Jonny, glad you liked it. I’m not quite sure about the last line – “lions are drinking” is a reference to the Thames (and also a song by my old band” – when the river’s at high ebb, the boatmen say that “lions are drinking” when it reaches the mouths of the lions carved on the embankment. That whole tides of blood thing sounds a bit *too* dramatic though, and now that I think about it, a bit Enoch Powell. I need to rethink that bit.
I thought of the Trafalgar lions actually…
Maybe the waves of tourists that climb on them?
But I’m not a poet.
In it.
Missing you. oh please come home, sheffield is like one big fuck off vortex sucking the life out of us now you have gone..
NB “Lions are drinking” is a term used by London boatmen, for times when the tide is so high that it reaches the lions on London's Embankment.
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