Money is as innocent as the Sun (Part 1)

like the glimmer to hope,

between the jolt and the final judder at the end of a rope,

the fingers entwined, are holding,

wish bones, pulled by water, pulling in water rising, heaving, wishing, dragging,

water so heavy with it’s obligation,

to do the bidding, of the sun,

sacrifices to our star,

not just those cut throat temples, blood flowing like a spar,

or those to be commemorated generations, those generations to come,

our slow burning, sacrifices to that star have begun,

their great unfolding,

and so, but these hands are holding, wish bones pulled, fingers entwined ,

though, not accompanying a prayer, no,

they haven’t got one,

both below to a different pair,

and the smaller hand, like passing memories,

is more held than, hold my hand or we’ll never get across this road and we’ll miss the bus, the party won’t wait for you to start,

sullen, what a face, sulky, having received, a perceived, unjust chastising,

eyes toward the sky rising,

those long nights of ridiculous assurances sought,

that the sleep of the innocent,

is, naught, more nor less than, sleep,

supporting the balancing on one tip toe,

ankle deep, in bubble bath,

as a dogs of its lead comes on to the path,

in the shade of that precaution, taken, holding,

maybe there’s a sense, in the chill of that shade, of that wish not made, of thought,

bones caught, snagged in a mind, hooded to distort,

the holding in these hands, a refusal to divulge, in a deluge, of water,

pouring like torture, like torture, consigned, to a blind, spot,

just a piece of mind, tied, just a piece of mind,

a forget me knot, tied, for the peace of mind of the haves and the have got,

thats us lot,

so do take care, waiting to cross a busy road,

in that vigilance, a semblance, there,

of that between you, that small hand you hold, and those fingers entwined,

as old, and as blind, as love,

older, uncannily bolder,

the terror pulled wish bones,

in water wishing water like dust, to dust, the sun has got his hat on,

for the parade, the returning, from our burning, to the earth’s trust,

these hands are held by love, yes, yes, held by love,

but, it is the hands that are holding,

holding with a love defying, the sun,

defying you, me, this every no one, fit for purpose blind terror wrist, capitalist, we,

the hands … these fingers, this contumacious love; parting,

not letting go, no, no, but not holding,

like autumn leaves in winter puddles these fingers are unfolding, fingers are unfolding,