Scattwalk

Jumping through perpendicular heights. On the orange pyramids of Leigh High. Street. Always with one leg spread out. Arranged opposite. Bombed-out. Destinations scattered, each direction matters. Polarised steps. Entropy change. When running or crawling before or after. Fishing or swimming, drinking or drowning? The socks get soaked in the sand. You need to get used to the tingling sensation in your feet. Legs coated with purple welts. Pervading, perpetrating, protruding plague. Medusa stings. Defeminised mimosas due to prevailing winds. Balancing succulent, scrutinised, right words. It was never easy to hang high hopes on high ropes.

Walking directly to the centre. Coda. Dog and Partridge. Goat and Boot. Love Thy Burger forever. Beau Cheval riding high. Horseback riding is the village pride.

Penetration of local premises. Perplexed are my senses. Was it here or not? These buildings look alike. All the glitter and gold gone. Only soot and stone remained. Patina weighs on the roof with each new drop of rain. I start to shake and get weaker with each step. How many streetlights are there between my gloomy moods unveiled? To brighten me up and say a kind word to smooth it all out. Smokers and talkers, drinkers and eaters. Pub regulars dance to the rhythm of my euthymic heartbeat.

I leave the main road and enter the thick fog. Blurring it all.

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Thank you for reading!