from The Beautiful Game
4. Something for The Weekend
Football is sex. When Beckham rammed that YEEEEEES
Down the crowd’s throat (with Campbell about to mount
Him behind) having opened his account
With England, and swivelled his hips like a lech
Because he’d scored with a country, no less,
The earth was moving for us all (our doubts
Stripped off, the World’s Cups in our grasp like founts
Of milk and honey) and joined our nakedness.
Sex at its very best, for what is sex
But love, or God, without the permanence,
A crude attempt at ending loneliness?
And what is football but a lonely crowd
Trying to score, a fallen Man, united,
Icarus over the moon and standing proud.
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May 17, 2013
May 08, 2013
The latest article to appear under my pioneer hep cat big howling folk correspondent byline in the Lynn News (that's me pictured surprised in situ by Alan Timms along with several of my Sony Mavica studies exclusive to this website) now available with further pics here