glastonbury girls


it’s too late, right?

who cares

if it’s a snare

or a hat stand or

a horse or more bland?

is the reason you’re here

in the front row

because you can’t do much more

than desiccate a moment

and then let it go?

it’s a thrilling low, i’m sure

uncharted and bleak

to watch me as i sleep

desperate to recall

a reason that deserts me

seven nights a week

you do know

the sum of

your summer ideals

with your companionist chums

amounts only to some

maybe a tent and a guy with a beard?

back row now, in a field

distributing  infidelity

through cellular proxy

burning flags and boxes

which might be what you need, my love

but it leaves me

high and dry