Penwith, Cornwall... Cornish Art

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A Penwith Hundred - a work in progress

oh, there'll be words she supposes (and he expects) - walking after rain with the wind blowing, down
tregenna hill and in a flapping raincoat, to a beach like in that antonioni film (beyond the clouds)
but not like that, but the back of an envelope, back of a fag packet (and writes it down) her number
and it's ring ring, ring ring, hello... is that you myfanwy, morwenna, whoever? my chagallian bride!
my dreamgirl dreamgirl, my dreamso dreamboat... come, let us be away aweigh to the sloop inn tonight

piran in (you know, piran d'or, lives next door in the basement) giving it big on absinthe, here you
to nobody in particular, he says, to nobody at all, you can feck off with your quantum entanglements
you can feck off with your quarks and you can feck off with your molecules and he wasn't even oirish
but feck was fuck anyway and he was proper cornish anyway, from way back when, the cornish rebellion
in 1497, before then... and oh myfanwy, morwenna, whoever my love, high tide's rising, hold me tight

and the moon too, high and full, and a mad sea... sloshing and schlepping and slippery slip slopping
slooping even, outside the sloop, with stupid rain falling, and i get the call, get the text, i'm at  
the tate she says, top of the steps, i've slipped the dress off, i'm having a wee, you wanna see? do
i wanna see i said? what? do i wanna see? i'm coming right now i said, i'll be there in a jiffy, and
oh myfanwy, morwenna, whoever my love, the tide is done and the waves spent and i must asleep to bed
and if that were the time, if that was the time to stop (and, as if that were possible) - sitting at 
a desk and bringing up youtube on the laptop and playing an air guitar to money for nothing, playing 
an air piano to an appassionata, as if he's glenn gould or someone - then of a sudden he's tom waits
on an upright in the swordfish, and it's a friday night in newlyn and the fishing boats are in and a
good catch was landed and, yo, proper job, my handsome... and it's nos da nos da, nos da nos da, nos

da, nos da (that time then) and it's.. interior, exterior, daytime, nightime, sometime never but not
ever a movie script, or a tv script, and deffo not poetry (ever, ever) - the whole gang of them full
throttling on their mobility scooters on penzance prom, that time, with immy kant from lelant and oh
tommy hobbes from hayle, remember him, others, all lined up in formation like they're the red arrows
and because there were seven of them, see, they called themselves... The Magnificent Wheezers... Ohh

but it was grand to see them, it was great to be alive - they had missile launchers on their scooter 
sides and gatling guns for headlamps and oh Those Magnificent Wheezers in their Glorious Prime, they