I have Spiderman legs
And dead volcanoes in my eyes
I have a comicbook soul
I am rainy day pavements
And the reflection of trees hanging
Over the canal
I am children playing on the roundabout
On the park
I am the boy stuck halfway down the slide
I am the geometry of hillsides
Broken up by black lines dry stone walls
And pepperdotted by the lonely sheep
I am a son of the river
Forgotten how to swim
And my body is mapped out
By churches into parishes
But I have forgotten how to worship
I run through the afternoon streets
Scraping over railings
Jumping down alleyways
And steep ginnel steps
Hedgehopping suburban gardens
With spinning top hips
And I am filled
With waterpistol honey
I will build a birdsnest in your chimney
To match my hair
I will paint your eggshells
The colour of my eyes
I will take you through the woods
And show you trees
I swung from and
Bridges that I built
Doors of tin cans, dead dry leaves
Into dens of jamjar purity
Plastic soldiers buried in the mud
And faded pages of my memory
I am bicycle thin
I hide my heart in a treehouse chest
And though I never learnt to ride
My racing handlebars sticking out
I take the corners
Saddle high
And pedal furiously
As the hills recede behind me
Pedal harder
As the village falls away
And the sky turns red and gold
Pedal harder
As the road flies over the horizon
Past dark parked cars
Past crimson lamp posts
Past death telephone lines
And humming pylons
I pedal harder
My legs flailing
My tiny muscles tensing
My wheels buckling
My bell ringing
My bell finally ringing
And I am finally drowning
In waterpistol honey
