Peter Lilly: Poems

Today's snow is the literal icing on 255,500 yesterdays of this building. The walls give way to weathered cliff-face; the beacon of the capital of the crown of Britain. Snow capped monuments to literature point upwards to the castle, that has bled out the streets of this city in slow running tributaries, not of death, but new life, new redness and new heat. A city that keeps on breathing and looking up to it's frosted castle. Written while looking up at the castle from Princes Street Gardens, in the snow of January 2013.

He says he chased her away so now he falls asleep on trains. He says he chased her out when he started drowning her voice with whisky he can no longer afford. So he drinks cheep cider and falls asleep on trains. He says he chased her out with his money making schemes, and his time inside was too long for her to wait. So he clouds his memory with heavy liquid and falls asleep on trains. He says he chased her out with all the responsibilities he pushed to her side of the bed, and when he was released she didn't try to hide her impatient infidelity. He ignored it with liquor, yet no bottles were smashed until the last time she slammed that door. Now he wants to stay nauseous and he falls asleep on trains. He says he chased her out and she left. That empty crib and shelves full of gifts and photos were too much not to burn. He hates the drink but he loves the way it's killing him, even so, part of him still does not w...