Happiest of Hells

by davidchrzanowskipoetry

Weighed down by concrete clouds,
I take a walk with Mr Shepard and Mr Boulter;
One an escape artist, the other a thief.
Walking westbound towards the Severn Bridge Toll,
Waves braking beneath us, hands of the dead grasping
our ankles, as old territory turns into mythical lands.
Escaping into the happiest of hells,
spilling drinks of hard liquor, leading to stonewall fist fights,
punching above our weight, we laugh at every demon.

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