It was winter, I was unhappy, I knew I was splitting up with a girlfriend.

Grim up North



I quiver amongst vaulted halls of cathederal trees,
these skeletons of summer,
struck into the belittling hills
by the abandoned hands of winter nature.
These wheezing ribs part callously for
the vengeful knives of a bullying winter wind
and cackle as I am plunged through
again and more to a riven stagger
for the satisfaction of some higher pleasure.

Adjudged, I'm brought in from the scourging of the raining blades.
We begin by the rituals of your northern brew, my southern tea,
the brown heat of Bolton comedic ministeries,
an opening defence against my forthright invasion
as I scale your flattened vowels
and mount silent challenges to your disemployment.