A certain piece of equipment in my possession has been causing me a bit of grief in this lovely British time of rain and wind (i.e. the majority of the time), so I thought I’d compose a poem that’s essentially a heavily abridged version of Leonard Cohen’s ‘Nevermind’. As you do. It’s a song I became obsessed with after hearing it during the opening titles of True Detective S2 (no, it’s not a great season, but it’s also not as bad as people say it is). Anyway, imma ’bout to chuck some substandard beats your way.
The ribs were lost
The canopy declined
It was not fraught
It still aligns
It was not fraught
It still survives
Even if it doesn’t really thrive
I had to leave the cover behind
It flew to where
You’ll never find, ’cause I
Lost it in the deep divine
It was decent but not sublime
Not sublime
Not sublime
The ribs were lost
The canopy declined
There’s a working handle
And a switch device
Neither are great, so
Not sublime
Your decline was so concrete
It really was
Quite disappointing to stare at
Your broken wires, full incomplete
The small end top
Our rainfall flayed
The bones it got
Chilled through the stage
Our broken trees
With contraband
A £3 umbrella
Hardly stands
And through these leaves
The discarded parts of paltry vines
Some call fame
The lowest of the vines
Some call Jeremy
But we had names more offensive
Names so barbed
And names so true
They’re mud to me
And frost to you
There is no creed
And this true divine
There’s a working handle
And a switch device
Neither are great, so
Not sublime
I could not break
The way you break
I could not grate
I vibed and trailed
You turned around
At least you’re whole
But broken full with
Ferrule flies
This was a part
This bunch of spires
This cold metallic
This frame of mire
You don’t look well, I’m not surprised
A £3 umbrella
Unholy bind
Not sublime
Not sublime
I had to leave the cover behind
It flew to where
You’ll never find, ’cause I
Lost it in the deep divine
It was decent but not sublime
Not sublime
Not sublime
You have no knife
Nor spoons behind
You play it dull
No tools no pride
Through no clear spine
You can’t survive
My raincoat’s here
My cold hands too
My kitten gloves far from tools like you
In cases deep
With hats entwined
You have no knife
Nor spoons behind
The ribs were lost
The canopy declined
It was not fraught
It still aligns
It was not fraught
It still survives
Even if it doesn’t really thrive
☂︎