by Martin Threlfall
My body feels like an old clique
Mopped up with the ash and coffee
Used to see off the egg yolk

My mind is a burnt out shell
Left cold and dissatisfied by an angry crowd
A wind scythes through a hair of light
The weak dry cells just finger around

And like the flu I’m cloudy
Pavement dull
No better than the needle torn gull
And even the man selling the newspapers has a point

Just trying to get through the hours on our toes
Trembling fingers we sweat from our pores

  ©Martin Threlfall

 

Bio:
Martin Threlfall aka Slim resides in Sydney, Australia. For the past four years he has been meeting with is writing partner once a week and they have been working on a screenplay for an action comedy movie. He has four other projects that he wants to realize. Two novels, a childrens book, and a crime/action screenplay. His intention is to fully commit to his writing this year. His dream is that one day he can give up his day job write full time for a living.

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Martin Threlfall